


Phantasy

by Sboyle92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fem Harry Potter - Freeform, Master of Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-02-07 13:01:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sboyle92/pseuds/Sboyle92
Summary: This story was adopted from Tsume Yuki from fan fiction.netcheck them out, they are one of my favorite authors out there!Tom Riddle was fully expecting to stay in hell forever. But the brat-who-lived and friend has, of course, come along with an offer too tempting to refuse. Albus Dumbledore was fully expecting Harry Potter's name down for the next year at Hogwarts. He just wasn't expecting two Dark-Lords to be enrolling as well. Time-Travel -sort-of- and Femharry
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

Name: Harriet Potter

Portrayed by Lilly Collins

Portrayed by Lilly Collins 

Family:

Father - James Potter*

Mother - Lily Potter*

Godfather - Sirius Black

Pseudo Uncle - Remus Lupin

Godbrother - Neville Longbottom

Number of Times being alive: 13

this story has been adopted from Tsume Yuki on fan fiction.net if you would like to check out the original, either search for their name 'Tsume Yuki' or the story title 'Phantasy'.


	2. Prologue

Prologue

A/N: I am going to be transferring Tsume Yuki's work over and then picking up where she left off. Hopefully I can do her fanfic justice. Thank you

"You have a visitor."

Looking up from the little hell-hole he'd spent all his time in since he'd been killed upon the earthly plane, one Tom Marvolo Riddle raised an eyebrow at the figures before him.

The first and foremost, the very one who'd just addressed him, was of course, Death. The cloaked figure stood ten feet tall, towering over the two accompanying him, powerful, imposing and menacing. Exactly how he'd been when he'd first met Tom at the passing between the mortal plane and this hell hole he was currently stuck in. It hadn't laughed at him, but even laughter would have stung less than the silent, smug superiority that he'd been given. It cut deep, that he'd still been unable to avoid death no matter how hard he'd tried.

Still he'd ended up here, with his mind slowly driving him mad. The desperate need to prove he was more than just another trapped soul in the eternal workings of this realm persisted. If Death had a face, it was probably sneering at him.

So Tom looked away from the figure, turning his attention to the others.

The first, the taller of the two, took him a moment to place, but when he did, he laughed. Gellert Grindelwald stood, an angelic faced eighteen year old. Blond hair that curled only ever so slightly at the end, an almost frozen quality to it, along with his icy blue eyes. Yet he seemed infinitely amused at something. Oh, of course.

Tom laughed bitterly as his eyes landed on the final person, shaking his head back and forth as he did so.

"Come to gloat?" He asked, watching as Harry Potter ran a hand through his hair. He too looked no older, the same age as when Tom had last seen the boy, who just stared back at him with the piercing green eyes. But, Tom wasn't too disappointed; he'd been here too long to hold onto old grudges. Well, maybe. The slightest burn of annoyance still remained. Most of his anger was at Death itself nowadays.

"No. Listen, when I hit forty, some huge volcano in American erupts and wipes out almost all the population of earth, both magic and muggle kind alike. I've lived twelve lives so far, trying to stop it and each time I've messed up." Sitting down on the floor in front of him, Harry took his glasses off and rubbed at them, absent-mindedly patting the spot next to him. And with little hesitation, Gellert sat beside him, still wearing the cocky smirk that'd graced his face since Tom had first laid eyes on the teenaged dark-lord.

"Death keeps sending me back, and I've been allowed to pick some people to help me out each time. The first few, obviously I went with some of the lighter side people, but that just wasn't working. To be honest, it's gotten to the point where I've just stopped caring how I get the job done now, as long as it gets done. Gellert's already agreed to come give it a crack. Are you in?"

And Tom laughed.

Because, oh, wasn't in ironic, that he was being asked to come and save the magical kind that he'd once wanted to rule over, to dominate. That his enemy was asking for his help, and didn't seem too bothered about how they'd get the job done.

Oh of course the boy wouldn't allow for the deaths of innocents, even living so many lifetimes, his core characteristics would still remain the same. Tom wasn't stupid, he knew he'd be working with a boy that would want to save everyone he could. In all honesty, it was a choice between going and helping the brat -who really couldn't be considered a brat anymore if he'd lived twelve lifetimes- or remaining here. Go and run around the mortal plane for a bit then return, or just stay put?

Well, it wasn't exactly the hardest decision of his life. But-

"What's your plan so far?"

"Find and raise Atlantis."

At his raised eyebrow, Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

"It was used by our kind the last time that blasted volcano erupted, I've managed to find that out. You two are suppose to be geniuses or something like that, and I know you've got the power to back it up. If this try doesn't work, I'm asking for Gryffindor and Slytherin next time."

The green eyes looked over to Death, and Tom got the vaguest sense that the being was amused.

"Of course Master," the sharp, raspy tones of his captor filled the room again and Gellert cackled, looking mightily pleased at the title that Harry had just been addressed with.

"So, you in Riddle?"

"A choice between remaining here or going to torment Dumbledore and his blind followers? Do you even need to ask?"


	3. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Clemens' Orphanage

When Gellert Grindelwald awoke, it was to the giddy feeling of his senses. They'd been absent ever since his death, in that place nothing other than emotions could touch you, and even then it was only ones that brought sorrow upon you. The feel of the worn cotton sheets beneath his fingertips, the warm, crisp air of a summer breeze brushing through his hair, sliding smoothly down his forehead and kissing at his cheek. It was wonderful.

Shooting up, Gellert took a good look at the bed he was in. Standard, he supposed, for an exceedingly shabby, but not up to what was once his usual standard. He made quick work of sorting through the memories of this body that he'd been thrown into. He still had his name, his magic was surging beneath his skin, whipping about in his core and calling for him to begin using it. It sang when he called it to his fingertips and he watched the sparks dance across the grooves of his skin, a colorful array that lit up the room. He pulled up the blind that covered the window instantly, closing his eyes and simply enjoying the sun that warmed his face, a soothing, gentle touch. It was magnificent, a glorious thing that he'd always taken for granted, and pretty much ignored throughout his first life.

Oh, how it was good to be back.

As the young dark lord stood up and inspected himself in the full length mirror, he let out another cackle at his young appearance. He was no older than eleven, and if anything, he would soon be getting his Hogwarts letter. Oh, he was without a doubt looking forwards to that encounter. He could just imagine Albus' face upon figuring out a dark lord would be attending his precious school this year.

And then, the blond frowned.

Harry -and Gellert would call him by his name; anyone who mastered Death deserved his respect- had explained a little about what would happen after he and the little dark lord had agreed.

Gellert smirked slightly, because the self titled Lord Voldermort had never racked up nowhere near the death toll that he himself had, and thus, was the little Dark-Lord out of the two of them. He knew they were currently at an orphanage in London, the same one that Harry had been dropped into every time he'd restarted his life, purely because it was a good point of reference. Apparently, his body would just be plucked up and stuck there two or three months before he would arrive in it's consciousness.

Gellert was just pleased he didn't have to relive his infant years.

Running a hand through his blond hair, the former Dark-Lord turned to the door and strode out, the body's memories telling him that both Riddle and Harry's room would be down the corridor. As somewhat expected, the last one to their trio had emerged from his room too, brushing his black hair that fell in lazy waves back from his face so that that dark grey eyes beneath could peer out.

"Grindelwald," Riddle grumbled, pocketing one hand and raising an eyebrow as he did so. And Gellert found it highly unfair that the brat had a good few inches on him. He was obnoxiously tall for an eleven year old; Gellert himself had never been short, but Riddle as a child was roughly three inches taller than him. How annoying. Not that he cared, he was the oldest out of them, being born in October, as he was.

Cackling and ignoring the disturbed look that was sent his way, Gellert dipped into Harry's room, stalking up to the bed before he paused. Because not only did his mind finally catch up to the memories of this body's life, but his eyes landed on the figure on the bed.

A very different figure than what he'd expected.

"You're a girl," Riddle murmured from behind him and Gellert watched as the scarred female scowled, pawing at her rickety bedside table for her round spectacles. Once the looking glasses were placed upon the bridge of her nose, Harry -or was it Harriet now?- blinked at the both of them before rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, it happens sometimes. Seven times a boy, Five times a girl. Well, six now. It's how Death gets his kicks I think."

Riddle snorted, obviously quite pleased to see his enemy in such an awkward position, even if the girl herself was making no big fuss over it. She was sat upon her bed now, legs crossed beneath her and big green eyes staring at the two of them before she gestured for them to join her.

Gellert wasn't a fool; this was after all, his first and only rebirth. Harry was without a doubt much more experienced in this than what both he and Riddle was, and while the little Dark-Lord might not be happy with hearing the girl out, Gellert was quite content to do so.

It didn't mean he'd agree to whatever she said, but it did mean he'd listen. That was more than she'd probably get from the other one anyway.

Not that he doubted her ability to keep them both in line. If she had been through this cycle twelve times already, she probably had quite the spell repertoire stored away in that brain by now. And he knew that his magic had followed him back, so there was little doubt that Harry's hadn't. And if it'd been building up over twelve life-times, well…

"We're currently at Clemens' orphanage-" Riddle snorted, sitting himself on the chair that came with the desk, so Gellert dropped onto the other end of the bed, "-and the date is July 22nd 1991. Death always drops me at the same time and same place. Tomorrow, the Hogwarts letters will get wrote by an enchanted quill. And of course, Dumbledore is going to have an aneurysm when he sees your names down. So we can expected a visit from him on the twenty fourth I guess." Rolling her shoulders, Harry leaned back on her bed, laid across it sideways with her head dangling over the side to look at Tom.

Gellert frowned, taking in her form with a morbid sense of curiosity. She didn't look that much different than when she'd appeared before him in the little hole that Death had sentenced him to. There were the obvious feminine touches to her features and her body, but nothing that was truly be noticeable until she'd aged a bit. Harry was just as she would be had she been born female in her first life. How disturbingly entertaining.

Tom had a small smirk on his face, obviously pleased over the grief they'd be causing poor Albus and Gellert wasn't too bothered about the idea. Sure Albus had stopped his grand plan and seen him locked away for fifty plus years until his death, but they had both been close friends at one point too. He was more than level-headed enough to reserve judgement and approach this situation, not quite as a new person, but something close to that perhaps.

At least he hoped to. Maybe seeing Albus in person would result in a different reaction. Though he would pray otherwise, assuming the plan was to remain as innocent as possible up until they were ready to make a move. Raising Atlantis, it certainly sounded like a challenge worthy of his attention at least.

They remained sat their on the bed for a good hour, discussing the memories they'd gained before one of the orphanages resident, an owner of a dirty smeared face, poked their head around the door and loudly announced that lunch was to be served up.

Gellert watched the child flee with a faint form of interest, making a point about observing the younger Dark-Lord's reaction. Face twisted up in disgust, the owner of the wavy black hair was still scowling at the empty spot the orphan had occupied. Ah, so the disgust with muggles was a bit more personal than the usual pure-blood bigotry.

Harry clearly knew more than what she was letting on though, because she placed a hand upon the boy's shoulder, only for Riddle to flinch away instantly at the contact. The raven haired girl held both her hands up, a little smile playing across her face and Gellert forced himself to not laugh. Because she quite clearly, honest to god, did not care. If Riddle killed her, she'd just end up starting again in another reset, and Gellert could kiss his second life good-bye if that were to happen.

Which he most certainly wouldn't allow

"Come along," he mused, offering up his hand for the girl to take and watching as Harry cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at the gesture. Never the less, she slipped her hand into his, and Gellert tucked her arm against his side, escorting the girl as an a pure-blood of the early 1900's would walk with a female. Harry seemed to find it all very humorous, not even bothering to keep an eye on Tom as she allowed him all her attention.

"Harry, I'm going to be frank; I will give no less than the blunt honest truth to someone who actually holds my respect." He pressed a fingertip to her lips when she tried to speak, lips curling up in a smile at her disgruntled look.

"I am a sociopath Harry. Oh, I certainly have feelings, and I can certainly understand them, that it without a doubt. It's why I was never as good as your nemesis at manipulating people, couldn't just disregard the stuff like he did. However, as I said before, I will not lie. My moral compass is very, very twisted, and I if I lose my patience, I will pay no attention to it. I am not an idiot, and I do recognise what I do. But if and when I get angry enough, I just won't care. If you sincerely wish for my help, than you will need to keep that in line."

Not a second later, just like that, he let the serious tension melt away, embracing the merry wild disposition that'd died down to an ember in his prison.

And he happily walked with the Master of Death the rest of the way to the dining hall, Riddle trailing behind them.

linebreak

Albus Dumbledore awoke to a sharp rapping upon the wooden door to his chambers. Opening one tired blue eye, the elderly wizard peeked out at the source of his rude awakening, looking over to Fawkes as if to ask for some answers. When none where presented, he hesitantly got to his feet, brushing down the pajamas decorated with flying snitches upon their cotton surface. His beard came to rest against his front after he untangled it from the main mass of his hair, looking up again as the knocking continued.

"Enter."

The flustered from of Minerva McGonagall bustled in, a few strands of flyaway hair starting to escape from her usually strict bun. Her green eyes were wide and unseeing, but still directing down at the three letters currently clutched within her hands. Ah yeah, it was that time of the year when Hogwarts acceptances were wrote out.

Gently picking up his half-moon glasses from where they'd been resting upon the bed-side table, Albus Dumbledore made his way over to his overly stressed deputy head-mistress, sending Fawkes a bemused look as he did so.

"Whatever is the problem Minerva?"

Startled green eyes shot up to look at him, and in that moment, Albus caught the complete confusion hidden within their depths; his second in command seemed to be in deep shock over something, something that she just couldn't wrap her usually well adjusted mind around.

When he reached out for the three letters, she flinched back for a moment before catching herself, forcibly freezing her arms so he could accept the letters from her.

Carefully adjusting the three letters between his fingers, Albus flipped them around, inspecting the first name before he frowned.

"I'll get these ones Professor," he murmured, gesturing for her to leave as he stared down at Miss Potter's very much wrong address.

"Albus." But her whispered words were drowned out as he looked down at the second address and his eyes widened in alarm.

For one 'Tom Riddle' was being accepted into Hogwarts, and he was currently staying at the very same address that the-girl-who-lived was at.

"I must go."

linebreak

He apparated to the front of the building, Clemens' orphanage, in question without much thought other than to remove the girl from the vicinity. Even if it was just an unfortunate coincidence.

The orphanage itself was by far one of the nicer ones that he'd seen in his time, a warm looking building that stood within the centre of a small road of London. He quickly made his way up the steps, easily confounding the woman that came to greet him into believing that he was here for a visit regarding two orphans about a school they'd been down for since they were born. The usual story, as it were.

But he simply didn't have time to be careful, what was more important was checking to make sure that Harriet was okay, and to either confirm or dismiss his worst fears. He felt the impatience running through his veins, his hand wrapped around the handle of his wand as the woman in charge of the orphanage went about explaining that Tom had been with them since his birth upon the last day of 1979.

That was the first bit of reassurance that Albus had felt in any form, because Lord Voldemort was still running around causing a problem during that time. Even he could not be in two places at once, especially at two different ages such as a new-born baby.

The woman, unlike Mrs Cole last time, was unable to say who Tom's birth parents had been. Just that he'd been dropped off by the door in a small wicker basket with nothing but his name upon a card.

"He does have a very odd middle name though, Marvolo. I've never heard of a name like that till he came along. We had another boy who was dropped off in a similar manner only two months before Tom was; his name seemed a little odd at first too."

Albus nodded in a distracted manner, watching as the woman gently knocked on the door they'd stopped at before making her way inside. Albus came in after her form, and the very first thing his eyes were attracted to was the tall eleven year old boy sat upon the chair in the corner. His form was obviously too small for the chair, so the boy had kicked off his shoes and was currently curled up, shin bones pressed against the worn leather arm of the chair, hardback book resting within his lap. It wasn't a fairytale as far as Albus could see, but he didn't pay too much attention to the title.

The boy's face was startlingly familiar. He looked like a better cared for, but still very much the same, orphaned Tom Riddle.

The boy's curious grey eyes looked up at him, as guarded as ever, but this time, a small smile lit up the boy's face before he placed the book to a side and dipped his head.

"Sir," he murmured in greeting before getting to his feet and heading over to the other occupants of the room.

The first was the very person that Albus had rushed all the way here for, who had -until now- happily been sat talking to the final occupant of the room. Now the girl's bright green eyes were focused on him from behind her round glasses, looking just as inquisitive as Riddle had. She looked well, perhaps a little skinnier than Riddle was, but that would probably be down to bone structure.

"Can we help you?"

The young voice had to belong to the final occupant of the room, a tone that held a thin, smooth accent of an eastern European country that was perhaps, a little too light to correctly say what country. Albus turned to look at the final child in the room, flicking to the last letter absent-mindedly now that he was sure that Harriet was safe, only for his breath to catch in his throat.

Grinning back at him in a disarmingly happy, merry-like style, was a boy that haunted his thoughts till this very day. Only, he was older in his memories than he currently was at present.

The letter still though, proclaimed his name to be Gellert Grindelwald, living in the very same orphanage as the-girl-who-lived and the boy who shared the same name and face as their last mass murderer.

It was too much, he needed to do more research. To get the usual greetings out of the way and get out. No wonder Minerva had been so startled and worried. He'd get Harriet and get out of the orphanage.

Then he'd worry about the two boys that lived there.


	4. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Hogwarts Express

The light-hearted thrumming of a guitar filled the air, a calming, soothing tune that stemmed from the blond haired teen sat within the centre of the room. His half curled blond hair fell forwards slightly, framing his face and the sharp, icy features it housed. But the lips wore nothing other than a small, easy going smile. Long fingers darted about on the neck of the instrument, the twinned hand strumming against the strings as the tune fluttered around them.

The only other occupant of the room was a girl, a few years younger than the boy. She too was blonde, but it was a softer, darker shade than that of the boy's; their features indicating that they were, in no way, related to one another. Her eyes, a bright blue, were glazed over in a dazed fashion as she swayed gently back and forth in time with the music. The boy's voice was made of soft tones that contrasted against the sharpness of the guitar when they joined in with the tune, and a small, easy going simper lit up the young girl's face. For that one moment, she forgot all about the boys that'd hurt her, forgot about the fact she missed her mother, forgot about almost everything she usually worried about, even when her thoughts made no sense.

Instead, she just remained there, lost in the music.

Stood on the pavement outside the entrance to Kings-Cross station, Gellert Grindelwald adjusted the second-hand guitar that was currently slung over his shoulder. Since he'd gathered all the broken pieces from the owner of a music shop who'd been determined to thrown the wreckage out, the blond had been intent on putting it all back together. Riddle had just eyed him oddly, but Gellert ignored him. Ever since the instrument had been invented, well, he'd been one of the first few to own one, there was no way he wasn't going to have one in this time. He'd have to retrain his body to play the right notes, to hold it right, but he'd work it all out eventually. He'd managed it before, and he would without a doubt manage it again.

After the very first day when Albus had turned up, Gellert had watched as the Master of Death had allowed herself to be pulled away so that she may be returned to the tender care of her muggle relatives, the headmaster having placed a rather rushed memory charm on the both of them, as well as all the other orphans and the workers. The rushed spell was more than simple to break through. And the man had returned the next day, giving them what could only be considered a 'proper' introduction to the wizarding world and accompanying them to Diagon Alley himself.

If there was one thing that Gellert could appreciate about Riddle, it was the acting skills. He'd played Albus almost perfectly, if it weren't for his old friends rather unique ability to purely tell if a person had any half decent characteristics, he'd probably have sold the act. So, Albus was quite obviously a little suspicious of the Parselmouth, and if it weren't for his name, Gellert was sure he'd personally have gotten off scot free.

Yet, as it happened, he did have the name of his counter-part, who was currently locked away in his precious base, unfortunate as it was. That of course, along with being in the company of Riddle, saw to it that he was very much under Albus' watchful eyes.

Not that Gellert really cared; he worked best under pressure, as it were.

Ten minutes later a car pulled up, and out popped Harry herself, pocketing what was no doubt a shrinking trunk. Neither he or Riddle could access the funds of their counter-part -it'd be like throwing themselves at Albus' mercy- so they'd had to rely on the grant Hogwarts had for the orphan cases. Thus, the second hand robes. Not that Gellert really cared, he was just pleased to be exploring another school, even if he were to be light years ahead of his class-mates.

"I see you haven't killed each other," Harry mused as she approached them, eyeing his guitar in obvious curiosity and Gellert just smiled back. She'd lost some weight, now that she'd spent a good month back at her relatives home and the blond swore to try everything he could to help get her out. To see someone magical treated like a house-elf by muggles, of all beings-

"What's with the guitar?" Harry asked over Riddle's mutterings of 'he couldn't kill me if he tried'.

"Got the parts and fixed it. Shall we?" He gestured towards the station, one hand curling around his trunk and Harry smiled, nodding to him before stepping forwards to lead the way. It was clear from the way Riddle twitched that he wasn't used to this change in pace, which brought up several questions of why? He'd kept his distance at the orphanage too, not approaching Gellert and only snapping when he was pushed too far. Clearly he was testing the waters, preparing, much like a snake rearing to strike. Well, it would surely be an interesting show when he did so, of that, Gellert had no doubt.

Personally, Gellert found running through a brick wall to the Platform they needed a bit rudimentary, but he he let it slide by him, instead taking in all the magic around him that he could. The thick layer that rested against the barrier was subtle, a smooth sheet of energy that was packed with muggle repellants and other such goodies. He couldn't quite pick out every last spell, for time had eroded the barriers between them till they just seemed to meld together, becoming one grand web-work of magic that still served the same purpose but would be infinitely more difficult to cancel. It was the kind of advanced magic that Gellert could have spent days studying, and had not been set up by one lone wizard, and clearly more had been added as time had passed.

Alas, it was not to be, for he too was forced to join the mass of other students that were racing through without stopping to appreciate the beautiful spell work before him. Not even Riddle seemed that interested in it, though the younger Dark-Lord had obvious had seven years to do so as opposed to Gellert himself. Harry seemed to have clocked it, from the way her brilliant green eyes had swept over the magic, but she paid it little interest other than registering the fact it was present. Unlike all the other students that took a good run up to the seemingly solid brick-wall, Harry walked right through, both hands stuck in her pockets and a frown on her face. Riddle went next, passing through in the same calm manner as their raven haired companion.

Running a hand through the fierce blond curls upon his head, Gellert clutched at his trunk with one hand before quickly marching forwards, making sure to keep his steps smooth and calm. There was silence for a moment, as he exchanged one station for another, and then there was a blast of noise as he arrived. Beside the platform, the brilliant red of the Hogwarts express stood tall, steam billowing up out of the funnel above the engine. Gellert too a moment to step back and simply take in the huge train.

"Come on, let's get a compartment," Harry murmured, digging her elbow into his ribs and gesturing after Riddle, who'd already taken off towards the carriages.

linebreak

The Hogwarts express. Despite the years it'd been, the old engine still felt like home. The worn wood of the carriages still welcomed him, embraced him with the scent that only they carried. All those years of planning, fighting and getting lost in the madness, he'd forgotten the simpler things. He'd known, ever since setting foot on the train back when he'd been a tender eleven year old orphan, blind to the ways of the wizarding world, that if he could, he would make the train his. That had always been one of the end goals, to rule Hogwarts, to have it completely under thumb because it was home. No where else had he ever felt as safe and secure as he did within the confines of the stone walls that'd housed him for seven years of his life.

It was only in that final year before his death -and he sneered at the very thought of it- that he had been able to add the ancient castle to his own territory, and then he'd been unable to fully enjoy the fact he did control it. Because he'd been hunting down the threat, hunting down Potter, as he'd hunted down his Horcruxes. He'd never gotten to fully enjoy it, to completely embrace his victory over the castle he'd coveted for years, before he'd been brutally ripped away from life.

In a fashion that was almost tender, Tom ran his hands down the side of the wood that led towards a compartment door, just revealing in the feel of the walls beneath his fingertips. But, alas, he could already hear his greatest enemy and the one he'd succeeded as Dark-Lord bumbling towards him, the thick soles of their shoes slapping against the steps that allowed them to climb aboard.

With a scowl upon his face, Tom ducked into the nearest compartment, finding it blissfully empty of all living beings. Though he highly doubted it, seeing as the higher-beings that lived on above his world were cruel things, he still hoped that the two wouldn't end up in the very compartment he'd taken refuge in. As he fully expected though, it was a fleeting hope that was quickly killed in its youth as the two in the question dropped onto the bench opposite him. They were both very much different than what he'd have expected them to be.

For a start, the Potter brat -who had ended up a girl in this life, something which still made him smirk- was a lot quieter and seemingly more accepting of his presence here. Hell, she'd not even tried to 'vanquish' him yet. As if he'd allow that to happen again. The idea was almost laughable. Though Potter had without a doubt asked from him to join this crusade to raise Atlantis -something that made his veins hum with pleasure because oh by god was it a challenge, but was it even possible? Could he do something so monumental? Something that alluded even the great Hogwarts four?- that didn't mean she couldn't change her mind. So there was no way that he would be putting all his eggs in one basket.

He needed to somehow slip away from Potter's without a doubt watchful eye and start recruiting. To start spreading his influence. Because his other self had two options. Accept Tom's eventual rule -he will find a way to rid himself of Potter and the joke that had taken on the name Grindelwald- or he could perish along with them. He had no intentions of sharing his rule.

Not even with himself.

As the express took of moving at a slow, chugging pace, Tom rolled his eyes in half lived irritation as the blond pressed his face up against the glass. Upon seeing his expression, Potter gave a small smirk, leaning back against the plush surface of the bench and folding her hands over her lap. He could see the familiar holly and phoenix feather wand poking out of the girl's trouser pocket and Tom forced himself not to scowl. His own wand, well its current location was very much in question at the moment; he had no idea where it could be right now.

All he knew was that by his rebirth, it had eventually made its way to Pettigrew's hands, and thus, his own. Which meant the wand currently sat in his pocket -twinned dragon heartstrings, cedar wood and thirteen inches- was not his own. It was the closest fit that the pale faced Olivander could provide him with. The blond fool had suffered the same problem, ending up with a phoenix feather core surrounded by elder wood. The latter material had made the idiot quite joyful, if his light chuckles were of any indication.

"Are you quite done, gawking like a gormless idiot?" He could not hold his tongue, not with the rash and freeing way that the supposed Dark-Lord opposite him was stupidly gazing out of the window. The curly head of hair turned to look at him and Tom found himself fixed with a albeit impressive, icy glare. If he were anyone else, he may have even cowered. Yet, he was not.

"Please, you enjoy a short thirteen years without a corporal form; try being locked away for fifty years with nothing but the stone walls to look at." He sneered, the sharp pointed nose rising up from the slight puppy-fat that surrounded his face whilst Potter chuckled beside them.

Silently, Tom raised a brow at the girl, the underlying question of 'what could possibly be so funny' might as well have been written on his face for all that the gesture expressed.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, voice feminine and soft and nothing like he'd ever heard her speak before, because she was oh so amused in his presence unlike ever before, "it's like watching two former alpha's fight over the beta position. Quite entertaining actually."

Once Tom managed to push past the fact she'd dared to compare him to one of those mutts, be it wolf or were-wolf, both were equally as bad, he fixed the girl with his best glower.

"Who is to say one of us is not the alpha?"

"Ha, you say that like she's not already," Grindelwald's voice, dry as the air after dragon fire, cut through the confrontation almost effortlessly, "she's the Master of Death and therefore our better. Whether you wish to admit this fact or bury your head deep within the sand, you know it to be true."

Snarling wordlessly at the two, Tom reached for the advance theory book, burying his nose in it. But the two assuredly knew, that conversation was not over.

Not yet.

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Never before had she ever dreamed of something like this happening to her. Before, it'd only been mentioned within books, twenty-six letters upon hundreds of paper pages that would paint such a vivid picture of lands untold; that had been the only place Hermione Jean Granger had expected magic to exist. But then, a witch, a real and true to life witch, had appeared upon her doorstep carrying a thick letter of parchment, written with emerald ink that'd glistened with her name upon the surface. She was magic.

All those weird coincidences hadn't been her mind, they hadn't been faked, nor had they been some grand set up by the multitude of bullies that'd followed her through her life. She was here, in an actually world of magic. A place where she well and truly belonged. And she was currently upon a train, heading towards a well renowned school of magic, which would teach her anything and everything she would ever want or need to know. And by the gods would she make the most of her situation.

That was why, when a frightfully nervous boy had opened her compartment door, stuttering out between sniffles and snuffles that he'd lost his toad, well, Hermione had jumped at the chance to help. Perhaps, just maybe, she could make some friends here, friends that would like her for who she was and not for the homework help he could provided, unlike all the others before them. The boy, whom upon learning she would help him had introduced himself as Neville Longbottom, was currently following her as she made her way from compartment to compartment, still worrying his hands out in that awfully anxious fashion. So far, they'd run into a bunch of older Hogwarts students who'd been wearing green ties and had snubbed them, not even bothering to answer their question, and two red-head twins that had chased them down the carriage hallways with a tarantula. The bushy haired girl could only pray and hope that not everyone was the same as the unfortunate lot they'd already met. She knocked at the next wooden door and quickly slid it back before she could be told to 'get lost' again, peering inside.

The first thing she noticed was the lack of house colors and she smiled because they just had to be fellow first years. And then, she well and truly got a good feel of not just the people in the compartment, but the atmosphere of the place.

It was just like back in the amazing wizarding alleyway she'd been shown; the air was thick with undiluted magic, three different kinds as far as she could tell. And the source of each were the students before her. None of the older students had given off this impression when she'd imposed upon their compartments, so they were either better at hiding their aura, or these three were extraordinary powerful. The first one she noticed was the blond, a head of thick curly hair that was sat nearest the window, face almost pressed up against the glass as the scenery went by. He seemed completely absorbed with looking out of the glass, so much so that Hermione could only get a grasp of his facial features using his reflection. Even with that blurred form, she could tell he was all sharp angles and that there seemed to be almost no warmth on his person. Though he did seem completely at ease with the two dark haired students he was sharing with. The second one she noticed was the other male, sat upon the opposite bench with his head tilted down towards the book before him.

Her heart leapt; a kindred spirit? His hair was cut shorter on one side, parted off to the right of his head and fell in lazy half-waves that looked like he'd ripped them right from the 1940's. From what she could see of the boy's face, he was admittedly the most beautiful boy she'd ever had the pleasure to lay her eyes upon. There were few words she could begin to describe him with, only to exaggerate on how very handsome he was. And he read too, she'd never met a boy so pretty who also seemed to be so intelligent. She could tell from just looking at him.

"Can we help you?"

At the female voice, Hermione turned to the last member of the little space she'd entered, who just blinked back at her. Unlike the two that she was sharing with, this girl was not breathtakingly beautiful. In fact, she looked rather ordinary. Her raven colored hair was as messy as Hermione's own, though it fell around her head somewhat straighter than the brunette's bushy waves. The only thing that was worth noticing upon the girl was her startlingly bright green eyes, which were still focused upon her. If she had to ever describe this girl again, from this one encounter, all Hermione would ever be able to say was that she felt... Old. Like she'd seen too much, done too much.

"Yes, Neville has lost his toad," she gestured behind her, the faint sounds of the boy eeping confirming that Neville had yet to flee the scene. The girl before her smiled, it was almost bitter-sweet the way she did, before she pulled a wand from her pocket.

"Oh! Are you going to do some magic! I've tried a few spells, and they've all worked for me so far; I've read all the textbooks too, have you? Have you read Hogwarts a History? I do hope I know enough. I'm muggle-born you see, so I've got so much catching up to do-"

"A filthy mud-blood like you will never catch up."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

The beautiful boy had looked up from his text-book now, dark grey eyes flashing with hatred and Hermione felt something deep inside her die and crumble beneath his gaze and vicious words. She didn't know what that word meant, but it was quite clearly a slur, and if the way the Neville had gasped as blond boy snapped to attention at the sound of it, it was a filthy one. Before she could even begin to think about it, a bright light had flown from one side of the compartment to the other, smashing into the boy who smacked back against the bench with a grunt, book falling from his hand.

The green-eyed girl was stood up now, wand in hand and an absolutely fierce expression upon her face as she took a quick step forwards and dug her wand into the tender pale flesh of the boy's neck.

"Watch your words Riddle, my mother was muggle-born," she growled. Hermione understood instantly.

Mud-blood was a very serious word, quite clearly, and it was derogatory against anyone born to two muggle parents. Professor McGonagall had explained she would be considered muggle-born in this world, but she'd had no idea it was something that was frowned up. The only other occupant of the room, the curly blond boy, was watching the fight with passive interest, as if he were more bothered by the rapidly approaching outcome than the currently going ons.

And then, to Hermione's absolute amazement, the dark haired boy began hissing at the girl, sharp, stinging sounds that left his mouth and sounded more like they belonged between the lips of a snake. And the girl replied back. As if they were communicating. How fascinating! Was it a wizarding language? Would she be able to learn it? Where the two of them from wizarding backgrounds, was that how they knew it? The girl had to be; she'd said her mother was muggle-born which meant her father had to have been someone from a wizarding background, otherwise the dark-haired boy would have been throwing slurs at her too.

Instead, he seemed to begrudgingly back down from the owner of the wand that was currently pressing just above his collar bone, picking up the book he'd dropped and ignoring all of their presences completely. Finally, the girl stepped out of the compartment -once she'd shooed Hermione out of the way to do so- before closing the door herself.

It wasn't until Neville let out a low, shallow whimper that Hermione even remembered the boy was present.

"Sorry about Tom, I'm still trying to beat the problem he has with muggle-borns out of him. Saying that though, Gellert isn't exactly a big fan of muggles either... I'm surprised he didn't snipe anything in. Though he's never claimed to have anything against muggle-borns..." The girl trailed off, rubbing her hand in an almost nervous manner against the back of her neck as her green eyes peered at her from behind the thick lenses of her glasses. Hermione's mind rung within her head, calling for her to remember just where it was that she'd heard of the name Gellert before, because she recognized it and it was without a doubt uncommon for a name.

"Anyway, I'm Harry." The girl murmured, sticking out her hand to shake Hermione's own. The bushy haired girl did so, curiosity piped because there was suppose to be some famous girl called Harriet Potter of the train; was she maybe-

"Neville Longbottom." Neville had already shook hands with the girl and Hermione cursed her own brain because she hadn't introduced herself right.

"Her-Hermione Granger," she stammered, watching as Harry's face lit up and she drew her wand again.

"Great, now what's your toads name?"

Neville stuttered out the name as Harry carefully placed her wand upon her palm, tongue peeking out from between her lips in concentration. And oh, how desperate was Hermione to ask what spell the girl had used to send the beautiful, hateful boy -Tom- into the bench-wall. But she didn't dare break the girl's concentration as she whispered 'point me' at the long, thin wood in her hand. To Hermione's amazement, the wand spun about, Harry walking up and down the corridor before she stopped and grinned.

"Accio Trevor!"

And like a bullet, the toad came shooting towards them from down the corridor, Neville scrambling to catch his wayward pet whilst bumbling out several 'thank you's' as he did so.

"Are you Harriet Potter?" Hermione finally asked, watching as Harry looked up at her. And then, the girl had the audacity to wink at her.

"That's me. If you can bear the presence of Tom again, you can join us and ask all the questions you want."

Oh it was so very tempting, she had so many questions bubbling up on the very tip of her tongue and Harry seemed oh so very nice so far. She defended her against the boy who was perhaps maybe her friend and she'd helped them find Neville's toad with a spell Hermione had not yet read about.

She turned to Neville, silent question in her eyes and the boy nodded nervously, heading back to the compartment they'd been sharing as she called after him, promising to return later. Her desire to know was simply overrunning everything else.

Before her, Harry gently pushed open the compartment door again, ducking in and taking a spot on the bench next to Tom so that Hermione wouldn't have to. Instead, she found herself looking towards the blond haired boy -Gellert? That was one of the names Harry had said, had she been referring to this boy?- who was now fully paying attention In fact, he'd held out his hand towards her in greeting.

"Gellert," he introduced himself and Hermione quickly took note that this boy was oh so very nice to look at too -not as much as the offensive Tom, but close- as she slipped her hand in his. And to her mortification, he brought it to his lips to brush them against the backs of her knuckles.

"Her-Hermione," she stammered out, listening to the boy's accented, throaty laugh as Tom grimaced at him from across the other-side of the compartment. The blond haired boy tapped at the bench beside him and Hermione dropped down, legs suddenly feeling weak. Was this how all wizard's greeted one another? How very little she knew of this world and it's customs, she was so out of her depth it was almost unbelievable.

"Ignore Gellert, he seems to like playing with people," Harry murmured, sending a stern look at the source of her embarrassment. Gellert, a merry-wild smile upon his face, simply lifted his palms up in a gesture of half-hearted surrender, clearly unable to help the grin upon his face.

"First, yes I did survive the killing curse, no those books have never come to ask me questions so they can't be accurate as I was the only survivor, and no, I don't want to talk about that. Anything else is fine."

At the first bit of her words, Harry had shot the dark-haired boy a smirk, and Tom seemed to tense at the mention of it, bringing the book closer to his face as if to shield himself. Hermione herself was rather upset, because she had plenty of questions about that night. But the girl's words rang true. She had been the only survivor of that night, and to even ask a question about the night she had been made an orphan when they were nothing more than strangers would be rather tactless.

So instead, she asked, "What were those spells you used earlier? I've not read about them in any of the books I bought."

Beside her, Gellert chortled softly, inspecting his wand and rubbing the polished wood upon his shirt, as if to rid it of the messy finger-prints that rested upon the surface.

"The first was an obnoxiously overpowered Expelliarmus. Disarming charm. It's not stuff for firsties," the blond murmured. He didn't sound English, Hermione noted, though it wasn't a harsh accent that accompanied his words. It just gave him more character it seemed, a kind of emotion to his words that otherwise wouldn't belong there.

"The second," Harry mused, picking up where her icy featured friend had left off, "was a summoning charm. Also not something you'd learn in first year... Though I suppose you could look it up in the library if you wanted. Every heard of exploding snap?" And the girl pulled out a collection of cards from her pocket, a slight gesture to Hermione enquiring if she wished to join both her and Gellert in the game. And while she had so many more questions to ask, so much she wished to know, she forced it down. Because here she sat, in the company of two people she may tentatively call friends in the future.

So she hoped anyway.

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Ron Weasley was a simple boy. He came from a big family, with five older brothers and one younger sister. So, it was to be expected, that he had very little to call his own. Even now on the way to Hogwarts, that hadn't changed. Percy's old rat was sat upon his lap, and he was sharing a compartment with two other people, who'd vacated it half an hour ago to set off on a quest to search for a missing toad. So when only one returned, clutching at the lost beast, Ron was of course curious.

As Neville managed to choke out the words that together meant Harriet Potter had helped him, Ron was without a doubt intrigued.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one to overhear.

"Potter's on the train?" Fred, one of the five older siblings that Ron -in his opinion- had been cursed with, cried out from where he'd poked his head into the compartment. Instantly there were calls and shouts down the corridor, and Ron watched as a pack of future Slytherins -no doubt about it- passed by with a Malfoy -yuck- at the head, and Ron felt to need to hit somethin hard. Because he couldn't even have information as simple as this without his brothers -and thus, everyone else- finding out.

Sneering at the two chatting girls that Goyle pushed aside, Draco Malfoy made his way down the multitude of compartments with purpose in his stride.

Harriet Potter was on the train. And if there was anything his father had taught him, it was the importance of making new connections. He'd known Crabbe and Goyle since he was a child, his mother encouraging them to 'play nice together' because they'd end up in the same year at Hogwarts. At first, Draco hadn't liked it; he was clearly smarter than the two boys, and neither of them wished to play Quidditch, their only interest seemed to be food.

But then, then his father had sat him down and explained the benefits of having the two larger boys as friends. They could very well protect him, and his father had been right on his other point. Stood side by side and a little behind him, the two boys did make him seem more intimidating. That, his father had said, would make gaining allies a lot easier on the train. And while the interior décor of his current transport wasn't up to his usual standards -but then again, what was- he'd make do.

Because he was off to Hogwarts, and he was going to be placed in Slytherin and he planned to gather together his year group and start off his own little web of influence. Just like his father. Though, if he was smart about it, he'd be able to extend it outwards to Ravenclaw and maybe even Hufflepuff; because while he might not want to end up there, it couldn't hurt to know people in different places.

Coming to a halt at the only closed compartment door, Draco raised an eyebrow as he looked inside through the frosted glass. No other compartment had glass like this, so someone had clearly used some form of spell on it to protect their identity. Draco was in no way stupid; there was only one person on board that could possibly be famous enough to warrant such measures. Though he had no idea who had put the spell up.

He knocked once before quickly sliding the door open, taking in all the appearances before him. Two boys, two girls. He clenched his jaw a bit, because the two boys were in clear second-hand robes -poor plebeians, what could she possibly be doing sharing with people like this?- and while they may pay some attention to their looks -both their hair was styled just so to empathize their features- Draco wasn't here for them. Instead, he took a good look over the two girls.

The bushy-haired one had the front of her wild locks curled back around her ears, showing off a clean forehead, so it wasn't her. Which left the one with messy black hair.

"They're saying that Harriet Potter is in this compartment," he declared, watching as the girl looked up at him and then raised an amused eyebrow from behind her wire-frame glasses.

"Yes?" She titled her head to a side, the messy black bangs covering her forehead shifted slightly, the very edge of a scar peeking out. Excellent, he was in the right place, talking to the right people. Her green eyes seemed to peek around him, taking in Crabbe and Goyle and Draco forced himself not to role his eyes.

"That's Crabbe and Goyle," he strode forwards into the compartment, extended his hand and noticing that the dark haired boy looked up in slight interest. Still, he ignored the filthy poor boy and offered Harriet Potter his best smile.

"And I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." Not even a twitch of the face. She didn't seemed to react at all. Though she did reach out to place a hand in his, even as the wild looking blond let out a laugh. And Draco, still with his hand holding the girl's whipped his head around to glare at the two males.

"No one asked the opinions of two filthy poor urchins."

He wasn't sure what happened, the only thing he remembered was facing the two boys as he snapped out his insult, just the way his father did whenever they passed the poor people on the streets. The next thing he remembered was a tug on his arm before his face became far too familiar with the plush material of the bench which he'd been thrown into. There was a scuffle like sound behind him for a second, and when Draco looked up, ready to yell at the girl that'd pulled him along like a rag-doll, he froze in place.

Because the dark-haired boy had, at some point in those short two seconds, shot to his feet and aimed his wand at him. And Harriet Potter had pulled him out of the way, all but pressing herself up against the poor filth before him with her wand jabbing against the boy's jawline. What, perhaps, was most surprising was the dark-haired boy had responded to the threat instantly, and had his wand pointed into the girl's shoulder-blade, right at her heart.

"Draco, I think it's time you go if you can't keep your mouth shut. Come back when you grow up." She didn't move from her position, in fact, she dug her wand into the boy a little more when the dark wand he held twitched towards Draco's form.

Though he would never admit it, the Malfoy scion had never scrambled from a room faster, ears burning hot with humiliation at the sound of the blond boy's laughter. As he turned, ready to hurl one last parting slur at the two boy's that ruined what could have been a perfect partnership with the girl-who-lived, he froze when the dark grey eyes found his own lighter ones.

Still held back at wand-point, the boy was glaring at him and Draco suddenly felt the need to submit, to roll over and show the metaphorical underside of his belly, just so he wouldn't have to fight that. It only just hit in now, the magic that was whirling around inside the room, snapping about between the two in the center of the compartment. Draco may have been ignorant to it till now, but he wasn't stupid. He knew when to retreat.

Even if getting back at the lot of them meant waiting till a later date.


	5. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The Sorting Hat

The very first thing that Albus Dumbledore had done upon arriving back at Hogwarts on the fateful afternoon in which he'd found Harriet Potter in the company of two maybe reborn Dark-Lords, was doing the only thing he possibly could do. He organized an international Portkey that could carry him across the ocean towards a place he had not set foot upon for nearly fifty years. For all those long years, he'd ignored the mainland that lay off the coast of Britain, instead focusing upon the students passing through his beloved school.

Sure, he'd spent a good few years organizing a group that focused upon fighting Voldemort, but for the most part, he'd had very little to do with Dark-Lords after 1945.

However, now it seemed he'd stepped foot into what had appeared a shallow puddle, only to get swallowed up within the watery depth that'd acted more like a sink-hole than anything else. He was never going to get rid of what he'd dunked himself into.

He'd hoped -prayed, even- that he'd never, ever have to visit that place again. However, it appeared it was very much necessary now, if only to collect the answers he desperately hoped were there. Luckily enough, this was where one of his many titles, specifically Supreme Mugwump, came in handy. At least there was no waiting around to see if his Portkey request was approved. Instead, he only had to spend a single night laying very much awake in bed, fretting over whether his worries were true or not. Oh how dearly he hoped it was not.

So, upon the next day his Portkey had arrived by a common looking brown owl, just as he was placing a solemn maroon robe upon his shoulders. Compared to his usually bright and fetching shades of pink, yellow and orange, it was perhaps the dullest thing he'd worn in a decade. However, the place he was going to visit would offer no comfort or warmth, and he dearly wished to show how very much he didn't want to be there down to the very clothes he wore. He picked up the rusted key he'd been offered through the post, ignoring the note of worry that whomever was in charge had sent along with it. Had he been anyone else upon this earth, his request would without a doubt have been ignored.

Yet, he was indeed Albus Dumbledore, owner of a Merlin First Class award, and it was for the very reason he'd received that honor that his request had been granted. Of that, he was very much certain. So, as the clock struck eleven, Albus allowed his fingertip to rest against the rusted metal and he was torn free of Hogwarts wards, stuck to the anchor point that was calling him up and out of Britain, across the ocean and towards his destination.

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He landed on his feet, almost silent in the dark, murky corridor of Nurmengard. He did not need to approach it from outside to know how it would look; a jet black building that would seem to tower over all others, should there have been anything else built around it. Even within the top most cell, Albus could feel the grim foreboding quality of the stone walls, calling out for him to give up all hope, to surrender it to the walls that surrounded him. He wasn't even the one trapped here and already he could feel the pull of the place, even with no dementors it did a fine job of instilling depression in those that stood within its borders.

"Albus?"

Pausing in his observations of the place, Albus Dumbledore forced himself to still, to be straight and become the imposing figure that the wizarding world saw him as, instead of the meek man he wished to crumple into. Gellert Grindelwald stared back at him from within his cell, absolute confusion written across his face. Obviously he never saw anyone around here, so it was quite possible that he believed he was imagining the presence of his once best friend, the man who had won their duel.

"Gellert. You are still alive." And didn't that send Albus' brain whirling. Because if Gellert was alive – and oh, this was Gellert, he would recognize that magic anywhere – then who was the small, merry-wild blond he'd shown around Diagon Alley not a day ago? They were so very similar, it didn't seem possible.

"Do you know if you ever fathered a son?"

Gellert looked positively spooked by the question, brows drawing together across his worn forehead before he gave a light shrug.

"No idea. It's quite possible, though it's not as if I can check, is it?"

He couldn't do this. He had to get out of here; he couldn't face Gellert any longer. As the Portkey activated, whisking him back to England, Albus was able to focus upon a very few select thoughts. The boy was most likely an unfortunately named descendent, and for all the panic it could cause, that didn't mean the poor boy was a lost cause. Now, all he had to do was unravel the mystery of the other one; he prayed the answer would be as nice as this one.

Somehow, he doubted it.

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As the Hogwarts Express let out a low bellow of steam as it coughed and spluttered to a stop, Harry jumped to her feet with a look of excitement and anticipation upon her face. It was perhaps the first time that Gellert had seen her with such an intense emotion, if you were to ignore the time when she had been threatening the baby Dark-Lord just hours ago. She sat with Hermione, and after they'd gone through the exploding game of snap several times, the bushy haired girl had finally started asking questions all about the wizarding world and what they knew about it. He'd seen their silent dark-haired companion twitch everything the bushy haired witch spoke, but other than that, he'd said nothing more to them, thoroughly absorbed within his book.

And though both he and Harry had had to explain that they were very much orphans and muggle raised at that, so they only knew what they'd been able to learn of during their summer. However, Harry had explained that both Gellert and Tom – who had ducked deeper into his book at the mention of his name – had been to the Alley almost every day and had certainly picked up on a lot of things. She'd asked them all about wizarding customs, blushing most delightfully when she'd enquired about the fact he'd kissed her knuckles upon meeting her. He'd explained it as an old wizarding gesture that was most often related to pure-bloods, simply because most half-bloods and muggle-borns had connections in the muggle world, who'd long since outgrown the gesture when it was, in fact, wizarding custom to greet a lady like so. In fact, a pure-blood woman could consider it a great insult if the gesture was neglected, as it indicated that she was unworthy of their time. Though, few women did so nowadays as it had become so uncommon among their kind.

Gellert himself didn't have too much of a problem with muggle-borns. Sure, they came from muggles, who were very much unworthy of them, but to have a magical child born to two muggle parents? They should consider themselves blessed. Hermione was a fine example herself, quite obvious thirsty for knowledge, and stubborn about it too. She had a small smidgen of his respect because she'd found out about magic and was fully embracing it. She wasn't taking it for granted, coming into the wizarding world and believing she owned the place.

Oh sure, she had some strong ideals, but that only created some interesting debates when they clashed against his own. He made sure to tone down his thoughts on muggles though; he didn't need it getting back to Albus. That would be a disaster. But, to the point, Gellert was more than happy to ally himself with the girl, she'd obviously prove to be a quick study and she could be quite useful in when they began researching for Atlantis.

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As they gathered their trunks together, Hermione's eyes lit up slightly and she turned to look at Harry with a question wrote across her face before she voiced it aloud.

"Where did you learn that language? Is it a wizarding language? Can you teach me?" Harry laughed nervously and Gellert could see over her head as the only other speaker in the world snarled wordlessly.

"That was Parseltongue, and I'd really appreciate it if you don't mention it. Yes, it's a wizarding language, and it's sort of considered a dark skill. And no, you can't learn it; it's something you're born with. Very rare, very dark. Please don't mention it to anyone?" And by god was the girl good at puppy eyes. She looked just the right amount of ashamed, almost pleading as she looked up at Hermione at just the right angle to empathize the effect.

The girl with the bushy brown hair softened slightly and she offered a smile back, adjusting her grip on the trunk she held before stepping off the train.

"Of course I won't if you don't want me to."

Gellert could tell by the look in her eyes though that she'd be looking it up pretty soon, without a doubt. He'd have to shadow her as she did so; he couldn't have Albus clicking on to the fact she was looking it up, because that would be a big way to get more attention on them than there already was.

They had far too much as it was.

How strange these three that Hermione had sat with were. Harriet 'call me Harry' Potter had a bewitched trunk that could shrink and grow on command, and a self-confident air about herself that saw the raven haired girl leading the way. Tom – whose last name she thought to be Riddle, but wasn't too sure of – was obviously very intelligent but with a foul mouth and an attitude to match, something which made her play-ground bullies pale in comparison. And then there was Gellert, also of the unknown last name. He was carrying around a guitar, slung over one shoulder, and a mirthful nature to his grin that looked so very much out of place on his otherwise cold featured face.

It was disarming in all honesty, and Hermione couldn't help but stand there and wonder what she could offer to this trio of people that stood around her.

Harry was the leader; that much was obvious. Even if the dark-haired boy didn't acknowledge it, she noticed that he was still keeping eyes on the girl regardless, as if assessing her threat level. Something she quite honestly did not understand. Past that irregularity, Tom was quite obviously the unsocial but intelligent one, leaving Gellert as…

Well, the dashing one, she supposed, blushing as she thought it out. She had no other words to describe the boy; he had charm about him- the accent, the looks, and the attitude seemed to draw everyone in, she noticed. Watching as he interacted with Neville, she saw he used nothing more than a simple greeting, but the nervous boy still seemed not only shocked that he'd been spoken to and remembered, but looked as if he dearly wished to keep talking to the blond.

Even in the vast crowd that surrounded them, the masses of first years that seemed no bigger forty children, a good handful of eyes were on Gellert, who stood proud with one hand casually in his wand pocket and the other running his fingertips through his hair as he offered a disarming smile to the two girls of Indian origin looking at him. They both giggle before turning their attention to each other, even as the blond boy stopped looking at them and grinned back at Harry, who just looked half-heartedly amused at the whole thing.

"No more'n four to a boat!"

At the very front of their crowd, a giant of a man stood, with a huge black beard that fell in a collection of curls that was even messier than both Harry and Hermione's own hair. It was almost startling to look at such a huge man, but then she noticed his eyes, which peered out from under his heavy brows, but were perhaps the gentlest eyes that she'd ever seen.

So focused upon them that she was, she did not notice that two arms had linked in with her own until she was being dragged along the ground, Harry and Gellert alongside her as they headed off towards a boat. From the sound of the light scoffing scowl, she assumed Tom was trailing after them too.

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The boat that they'd occupied was a small thing, with a fancy looking metal pole at the front, upon which a lantern rested. The orange glow danced about in the night air before them, reflecting up from the lake below. Gellert had taken the front seat beside Tom, pulling the guitar from his shoulder till the instrument was resting upon one knee. Behind them, Hermione could still hear the giant of a man, who'd introduced himself as Rubeus Hagrid, shouting for the stragglers to get aboard a boat, even if it meant splitting up friendship groups that'd tentatively formed upon the train. She was ever so thankful that Harry had all but adopted her into the little group she had going, otherwise she may have ended up in the uncomfortable situation of sharing with people she didn't know.

"You don't mind, do you?" Gellert asked, gesturing to his guitar. Hermione shook her head whilst Harry chuckled when Tom mumbled a 'yes' under his breath, even though the dark-haired boy seemed to have already accepted that his opinion wouldn't be listened to. For a moment, Hermione wonder why the boy had allowed himself to be dragged into the rag-tag group but she shrugged it off, because quite frankly, it wasn't for her to know if she was honest. All she knew was the foul boy was sort-of-maybe friends with Harry, just like she was. It wasn't her place to question, even if she desperately wished to do so.

All thoughts of that flew from her head though, as Gellert brought his fingers towards the strings and ran them across their surface. It wasn't the perfect fluidity of a professional who had years of practice under his belt, but he was without a doubt beyond the level that an eleven year old boy should be. The occupants of the two boats flanking their own slowly quietened down, turning to look at the source of the music whilst Gellert hummed along slightly with his own tune, paying little attention to his own surroundings other than the guitar that was currently resting upon his lap.

"He's good, right?" Harry murmured from beside her and Hermione snapped to attention, her eyes a little wide as she looked at the girl beside her. She seemed completely at peace, even as the boats jolted and began to sail across the lake. "He made that guitar you know, I had no idea he even knew how to play. I've only known him since July," she murmured, running a hand through her hair as Gellert's pace slowly began to increase.

Hagrid, who'd taken a boat leading the fleet, was looking back at the blond with some unrecognizable emotion in his eyes, though it was without a doubt accompanied by a healthy dose of weariness. And when his eyes landed on Tom, there was obvious anger there. Though, he didn't look long enough at the boy for Hermione to know why. Maybe he'd also been on the receiving end of the boy's oh so fabulous attitude.

Regardless, she turned her attention back to Harry and smiled.

"Yeah, he is good."

Gellert's music quickly built the tension up, right until they got their very first view of the castle. And as the sight hit her, Gellert cut off his dramatic build-up, only quietly strumming a little wondrous tune that fit the mood perfectly. It took Hermione's breath away just perfectly.

And Gellert didn't even seem to realize what he'd done to them all.

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They'd been led up a series of stairs, and the only people that didn't outright gape at their surroundings were both Harry and Tom. The only reason she'd even been paying attention to them was because they'd been the people closest to her. Gellert was less of an obvious gawker, more of a casual observer. But she could tell he was very much impressed with his surroundings, if the pleased glint in his eyes were of any indication. The group of first years were muttering as they moved and she overheard some boy claim they'd have to fight a troll to get in. Or, that's what his brother had said anyway.

Harry had grinned upon hearing that, looking to Tom and whispering under her breath, "No, that's not sprung on you 'til Halloween". The mean dark-haired boy had actually snorted at that as if it were an inside joke, closing his book and tucking it away inside of his robe in one smooth gesture. Pleased at the fact she'd got an almost pleasant reaction from the boy, Harry turned away from him and instead focused upon Hermione, still smiling from her latest victory.

"Don't worry, we don't have to know anything to get through this test. It's just a matter of trust, really."

Hermione wasn't too sure how she felt about that; trust was not something she gave away so easily, not after the first girl she'd thought of as a friend had been calling her a beaver behind her back. Self-consciously, she pressed a hand to her mouth, praying and hoping that her rather large front teeth weren't as obvious as she felt they were.

"I'm so hungry, I'm sure I've got something left over in one of my pockets," a boy to her right murmured and a small smirk lit up Gellert's face.

He leaned closer to Hermione, till his lips were almost on her ear and she blushed at how close the annoyingly charming boy was as he whispered, "Zeigarnikfrustration," into her ear. Reading her confusion at the word, Gellert continued. "It basically means 'the gnawing sense of incompleteness knowing there is a partially eaten snack lying around'. German, that is." He murmured, and Hermione was unable to stop herself.

"You speak German?"

"Aber natürlich." Pausing to her allow her to take the words in, the icy blond smiled, "pretty much 'but of course', or 'naturally'. I could teach you, if you would like."

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As the deputy head-mistress, the very woman that'd introduced Hermione to the wizarding world, offered them an explanation, the muggle-born shuffled a bit closer to Harry. The raven haired girl looked over and smiled at her, quite clearly trying to offer her some form of confident comfort. It didn't really do much, as her stomach was still twisting itself into knots. It wasn't going to be like her usual gym lessons was it? Where each house had a captain and picked the kids they wanted? Because she was always picked last and that would be beyond humiliating.

In fact, she very much could not deal with that.

Or worse, what if she didn't get picked? What if she wasn't wanted by any of the four houses and was sent home? Could they do that? She'd never read about anyone been kicked out of a house before, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen, did it? She didn't pay too much attention as the ghosts passed by, so focused she was on the very idea she could be thrown out of this wonderful place she'd been shown. Calm down, that's what she needed to do.

A hand dropped onto her shoulder as Professor McGonagall informed them they were ready and Hermione turned to look at Harry.

"Stop worrying, it'll all be fine. I promise."

And somehow, that did make her feel better.

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Fred Weasley smirked a little as he finished drawing up plans for their annual 'back at school prank'. Opposite them, Lee Jordan was grinning, explaining just how it was that he'd gotten special permission for the tarantula he'd brought along on the train, a smug expression on his face as the girl beside him leaned away in disgust at the topic choice. Fred laughed a little, because oh Merlin there was oh so very much they could do with such a big spider. Like when their darling little brother made his way into the den of the lions, well, he'd certainly appreciate waking up with eight extra legs in his bed. He cackled a bit, unable to help it, and George certainly knew what he was thinking about, because the boy grinned along too.

And then, the grand doors open and Fred looked up because ah, Firsties. They were always so much fun to play with, so easy to pull a prank on the unsuspecting little ones that didn't know to watch out for the red head menaces. He quickly spotted their little brother's bright red hair in the mix, looking nervous and talking to another boy.

Ah, there was the Malfoy brat their father had complained about before, always trailing after his father and whining about something or another. What was odd though was the three near the front of the pack though. They weren't scared, like all the other little ones, nor were they trying to put up a front of bravery.

Instead, they stood tall, two not even looking around at their surroundings, the third taking it all with a detached sense of interest. Hum, they might need to watch those three; the elbow currently digging into his ribs told him George was thinking the same thing. The Sorting Hat - oh how the twins loved that hat, it made for such good conversation whenever they were waiting for the head-master in his office- was sat upon its usual stool and Fred smiled as the seam ripped open.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find a smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, And I can cap them all. There's nothing hidden in your head, the Sorting Hat can't see, so try me on and I will tell you , where you ought to be. You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve, and chivalry, set Gryffindors apart; You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal, those patient Hufflepuffs are true, and unafraid of toil; Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind, where those of wit and learning, will always find their kind; Or perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends, those cunning folks use any means, to achieve their ends. So put me on! Don't be afraid! And don't get in a flap! You're in safe hands -though I have none-, for I'm a Thinking Cap!"

And still the firsties looked terrified. Oh how excellent indeed. He could almost hear his brother's death-threats from across the room and Fred forced himself not to laugh, he could see the red-head looking up and down the tables, as if trying to spot them. Thank the heavens they were wearing hats, otherwise he'd have been found out in no time. George just offered him a high-five and Fred eagerly accepted, wiggling his brows when Angelina and the girl scoffed in their direction, a slight pink tint to her cheeks.

McGonagall stepped forwards as she unravelled the long roll of parchment, and Fred began to scout through the collection of heads, wondering just who it was they were going to end up with this year. If the gods – or Oliver Wood himself – had anything to do with it, they'd at least get someone who was good at Quidditch. They could only pray and hope such a miracle would come along.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!"

Both Fred and George sat back, watching as the mass of children began to make their way forwards, one by one, to be sorted. It was only when someone was thrown towards the table of the lions that Fred and George really bothered to pay attention, inspecting the fresh blood they'd been presented with.

Their latest addition was a bushy haired girl with bright brown eyes, who looked back at the three imposing first years she'd been standing with, eyes questioning and hopeful. Quite obviously she'd made friends with them, and was dearly hoping they'd be joining her within the house of red and gold.

"Gri-" McGonagall cut out all of a sudden, voice breaking into an almost croaking sound and Fred looked up, curious. What could possibly cause that reaction in their normally so strict head of house? Her usually narrowed eyes rounded in disbelief as she twisted around to look at their old head-master.

"Offspring of an old flame perhaps?" George murmured from beside him and Fred snickered, smile up at their Head of House who was looking to Professor Dumbledore as if he would tell her the apocalypse had been averted. Instead however, he gestured for her to continue, and the two Weasley twins snickered at the woman turned back to her scroll.

Those sounds of amusement quickly died as McGonagall read out, "Grindelwald, Gellert."

Silence.

Fred had never heard the great hall silenced like that before, and he could only watch with a lump in his throat as every non muggle-born first year scrambled back, a blond head of curly hair making his way forwards. McGonagall had to visibly steel herself to remain in place, and Fred was only just able to hear Alicia's low whisper, a word his mother would have killed him for using, before the hat screamed for him to join the snake boy stood tall before he bowed to McGonagall as he offered the hat back, bouncing over to the deathly silent table on the opposite side of the hall that housed all the Slytherins.

Who, as a collective group of bodies, inched as far up the table as they possible could whilst trying to remain subtle about it. Trying, but not succeeding.

Every other head of house but Snape, who was suddenly quite pale, looked as if they had dodged an Avada Kedavra as the blond sat down, face showing that he very much revelled in the awkward silence he'd created. Hell, if it wasn't for the name, Fred may have even congratulated the boy on what could almost be considered a prank.

That was, if he weren't currently in shock.

He barley paid any attention as the other names were listed off, clapping in a polite manner whenever someone was sorted into Gryffindor. And of course, the obvious sneer as Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin too. Only, the light blond didn't appear as happy at the idea now that he was sharing with the Dark-Lord's namesake. In fact, he looked downright terrified. Oh, then Fred remembered.

There had been a rumor going around the train that a Malfoy had insulted some friends of Harriet Potter and gotten kicked out the compartment. Wouldn't it be just amazing if one of those friends just so happened to be their newest Dark-Lord? Not that Fred believed that for a second, it was probably some witch with a grudge against the government and a convenient last name to later scare the crap out of them once her kid reached Hogwarts age. In fact, it was like the ultimate prank. He shared both ideas with George, who was quick to point out how Malfoy was sat as far away from the curly blond hair as possible.

Oh, he without a doubt insulted him! How brilliant.

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Humming the funeral march beneath his breath, Fred turned back to the front just as there was a call for 'Potter, Harriet'. Oh yes, this was the big one. He'd heard his mother's stories about the Potter girl, and subsequently, the Potter family. He'd heard tell that the Potter's were traditionally sorted into Gryffindor, so he got ready to start clapping.

It wasn't a minute later when that notion was crushed as the hat shouted out for the girl to go and joint the snake house. Every head of house, even Snape which made no sense what so ever, looked as if someone had died. George had actually started clapping for a second before he realized that she wasn't in their house. And funnily enough, the raven-haired girl didn't even seemed bothered that the snakes took a second or two to start clapping, leaping down from the stool and making her way over.

And then, she actually sat down next to the Grindelwald boy, grinning and punching him lightly in the arm. Bloody hell. Their savior was on good terms with the namesake of a Dark-Lord.

That was quite possibly the greatest prank of the night.

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Terrified wouldn't even begin to describe what Draco Malfoy was currently feeling.

Even though the feast was now in full swing, the sorting complete, he didn't feel the hunger that'd gnawed at his stomach up until ten minutes ago. He was well and truly done with the feast.

Though where could he possibly go? Even if he were to retreat to his dorm room, that wasn't safe. Because the source of his current distress was not only sat slightly up the table from him, but also in his house. In his dorm.

Dear Merlin, what had he done? Would he even be able to write a letter to his father before he was killed in the most brutally and bloody way to ever grace the island of Great Britain? He'd run his mouth, stupidly insulting the two annoying friends of Harriet Potter. And one of them was called Gellert Grindelwald!

He'd never known cold hard fear right up until this moment, when he looked up the table to the boy sitting beside the girl-who-lived. She was flanked by her two friends, the mass-murderer reborn – was the original even dead yet? Or was he just that unlucky? – And the violent boy who'd pulled a wand on him, who couldn't possibly be a mud-blood because he too was Slytherin.

All he could do was sit there, watching as the Grindelwald boy began chewing away at a rather thick slab of meat, chatting merrily with the Potter girl and an exceedingly weary looking Blaise Zabini. He still had the instrument he'd been carrying with him, laughing along with Potter when Zabini said something that had to be entertaining. The dark skinned boy looked more shocked that he was still living than the fact that this boy, Gellert Grindelwald, had laughed along with his joke. Though, it probably came a close second.

Theodore Nott was sat beside Potter's other friend and was looking just as nervous, almost shaking whilst the dark-haired boy paid the Nott heir no attention whatsoever. Meanwhile, up the table, the seventh years looked almost smug to be so far away from the firsties. If there was one thing Draco was dreading, it was heading to the common room, because at least Potter seemed to be able to keep a leash on her little devil friends.

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Right after Dumbledore finished his announcements, leading two ginger haired twins along the school song to the tune of the funeral march – oddly poetic considering Draco's current thoughts – they were dismissed from the great hall and Draco all but stuck himself to Crabbe and Goyle's side. Dear Salazar was he terrified.

Potter had stood up now and he watched in half hearted shock – he was surprised he could even feel anything other than fear – as Grindelwald offered up his arm to the girl, escorting her down towards the grand doors as the fifth year perfect started sweating buckets, scampering along as best he could to get ahead of them. The other boy who'd sat with them on the train sighed, rolling the dark grey eyes that'd looked at Draco with such fury earlier that day, before he too took off after them.

Catching Pansy's arm, the only girl he actually knew in Slytherin house right now, he looked her right in the eye.

"If I'm not here in morning, the blond one killed me. Make sure to send a letter to my father if that happens."


	6. Chapter 4

Chapter Four  
Preparations and Potions

Dear Mrs Zabini,

As I am sure you have already been informed by your son, we have had a rather unusual sorting ceremony. I am writing both to you, and to every other parent that has expressed some form of concern towards one of our newest students. I have received a lot of letters regarding one of our first year students, Gellert Grindelwald. I can assure you, Mr Grindelwald poses no threat towards any of the other students, and that he has just been blessed with an exceedingly unfortunate name.  
Upon learning I would have a student that appeared to be the namesake of a past Dark Lord, I not only visited the child myself, but also went to Nurmengard the very next day. I can assure you that the Dark Lord Grindelwald remains enclosed within the highest cell of his self-built prison, and I have felt no ill-intent from the young Mr Grindelwald who is now placed within Hogwarts. Not only does he appear to get along well enough with your son, but he appeared to be close friends with one Harriet Potter, who was also sorted into Slytherin house.

I wish you a pleasant day and pray I have averted some of your worries,

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore  
Order of Merlin, First Class  
Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confederate of Wizards

Finishing off the last of the letters to be sent home to worried parents, Albus Dumbledore ran a hand through his hair, sighing to himself. Already the letters were beginning to flood in, and he'd so far spent an hour of his morning replying to them. Last night, upon watching Harriet Potter get sorted into Slytherin and instantly gravitate towards the namesakes of the Dark Lords, he'd allowed it.

For even if he were suspicious – and quite rightly so – that didn't change the fact that the Gellert Grindelwald he was watching couldn't possibly be the very one he'd fought in that historical duel. That just left the other mystery to be solved.

One of the most important things he had done once he'd reassured himself Gellert was still locked up was to completely rip apart the time-table. He'd set it so that all the first years would have a potions lesson upon the first day. He wouldn't have just gone for Slytherin, even though he was rightly correct in his assumption that this Riddle would be sorted there, just in case he'd ended up elsewhere. Because out of all of the staff members present, no one knew the Dark Lord like Severus. The man had already been informed to pay specific attention to the boy, but to not make it look so. There was no need to endanger his potions master, but it always paid to be cautious. He couldn't afford to ignore the boy, not if he was a Dark Lord reborn.

He could only pray that it'd turn out the same as the Grindelwald boy; that he was just another unfortunately named orphan.

>linebreak<

Gellert woke up, curled in on himself, and clutching at a thick hard-back book, the very one Harry had passed him before disappearing into the female dorm rooms. It'd been a most entertaining night; the second that Harry had left their side, the other Slytherin boys had taken to leaving three feet of space between both him and Riddle. Because while he just shared the name of a Dark Lord, Riddle had gone as far as to let out a little of his aura now that they were deep within the Slytherin common rooms.

And like the little mice they were, they'd all but cowered in the presence of the real snake before them. Gellert liked to think of himself as a cat, that he played around with his food before eating it. As opposed to Riddle, who'd just swallow them whole and move on to the next one...He really needed to get off this food metaphor; he was starting to get hungry.

Sitting up, Gellert began working his legs from the tangle of bedding that'd wrapped around him in the night, shaking his limbs one by one as he drew them free. Straight across the room from his own rather grand four poster bed was Riddle, who'd been the first to claim his spot upon arrival that very night. None of the others had dared to contradict him, and Gellert had chosen the one right across the circular room from him, simply because the scared little brats couldn't get away from one of them without being closer to the other.

It'd been delightful as the Malfoy child had nearly spat and hissed at the one of the other boys for almost taking the one bed that had a buffer on each side before they came to Gellert and Riddle's was how the boy had ended up with his two gorilla-like boys sleeping in the beds next to him, the only form of protection he could get between his bed and that of the two young Dark Lords.

Gellert, after lovingly placing his guitar by his bedside, had proceeded to ward his bed as heavily as he could, so much so that it was perhaps better fortified than any other place within Europe short of Hogwarts itself. Riddle, whom he was always watching from the corner of his eye, had lazily done the very same thing whilst the other Slytherin boys had tried to not make their awe obvious. Then, Gellert had curled up around the book, ready to get as much reading done as he could. He was only two-hundred pages in, but it basically summed up all that was known of Atlantis and its history, along with the major theories that'd been made in regards to the place. There was also a little note from within its depths that asked him to pass the book on to Riddle when he was done.

So Gellert was going to be taking his sweet old time with that.

"Good morning Zabini," he mused, dipping his head to the startled boy before turning his gaze onto the only other boy awake, "Riddle."

His dark-haired, future partner in crime offered a slow nod, finishing the knot in his tie before leaving the room with his book-bag. Gellert watched him go for a moment before it dawned upon him that he was at school again.

And if he didn't want Albus breathing down his neck, then he'd better get on with playing the whole 'carefree student' act.

>linebreak<

Sometime while he'd been getting dressed, the Malfoy runt had managed to not only slip out of bed and dress himself, but slither into the common room without Gellert noticing. Which upset him a bit,; he was a Dark Lord and had decades on these kids, he should be able to keep track of them all, even if he wasn't fully focused upon them. He was talking to one of the other first year Slytherins, a pug faced girl whose voice seemed to run right through Gellert's ears and wrap tight strings around his brain.

"-and she was up, at five in the morning, slicing away at some wood! So I told her to cut it out."

"You did what?" The blond boy seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack, his pale grey eyes wide as he stared down at the girl as if she were suddenly lying on her death-bed. Or was already nailed inside her coffin, and he'd been dragged the six feet down with her. "You idiot, Pansy! Don't you know that she's friends with-"

To Gellert's great internal amusement, the Malfoy brat cut off with a chocked whimper and Gellert's face lit up when he realized why. Harriet had appeared at the top of the stairs leading from the dormitory, what looked to be a rather rudimentary skeleton of a broomstick clutched in one hand. She bounded down, meeting him at the bottom with a huge grin on her face as she did so.

"Hey, I got an idea of how to fund our little expedition," she pushed a handful of rolled up papers into his chest, the other hand bringing up the basic broom for him to inspect alongside the parchment.

It wasn't until he unrolled it that he fully realized just what it was; a broomstick design. There was a long list of calculations running down the sides of the parchment, while the actually aesthetic layout mainly consisted of a quick series of sketchy drawings in the centre of the information. The amount of thought that'd gone into the spell-work was beyond phenomenal, heavily focused upon getting the very best possible out of the broom itself. Gellert could tell, just by looking at the designs, that it'd taken more than one lifetime for the girl before him to put it all together.

It would easily outrun any other broom on the market for the next four decades at least.

"And it'll work?" He asked quietly, watching the raven haired girl bob her head up and down, having already taken her wand out as she started to work on the wood within her hand. Now that he looked at it a bit closer, he could see it wasn't just taken from one tree, there was a good selection there, all roped together.

"This is the prototype, but I'm certain it'll fly like I want it to. It's called – or it will be when I finish – the Thestfall."

"After the Thestrals?"

"Exactly. Mine will obviously be better than the design I give the market, but hey, you've got to keep the best stuff for yourself."

>linebreak<

They made it to the great hall with little to no problem, but that was where Harry stopped being predictable, because she made a bee-line for the Gryffindor table, dumping herself next to a very startled Hermione. Gellert followed after her, seating himself on the bushy-haired girl's other side and ignoring all the astonished looks the rest of the lions.

"Good morning Hermione. How are you feeling?"

Before the Gryffindor girl could answer though, two bodies dropped down beside Gellert and he turned to get a better look at the two that'd dared to approach him. Because whoever they were, they certainly were a credit to their house with their bravery.

"What'll be for breakfast my Lord?"

"The bacon of ten slaughtered piggies to your liking?"

"Or perhaps some viciously scrambled eggs?"

"Forgive us, your evilness!"

With that, the twin heads of ginger hair threw themselves down upon the floor, bowing as they did so, accompanied by cried of "We are not worthy!"

And amidst the shocked and horrified faces, Gellert couldn't help but cackle in delight. Turning to Harry, he wiggled his brows, gesturing to the two around Hermione's scandalised form.

"I will be keeping these two when we take over."

Harry laughed then, a warm, hearty chuckle as she too turned to look at the older twins before them.

"I suppose we can keep them around, even if it is just to prank our enemies," she paused, tenting her fingers and tapping the tips of them against one another, a frown upon her face. “In fact, we shall fund them."

Gellert raised a silent brow questioningly, because even if they did keep them around, why would they need to fund them? So, he attempted a bit of Legilimency, wondering just what would become of the two in the future time-lines that Harry had without a doubt bore witness to. And surprisingly enough, she let him inside her mind. Every other thought was blocked off, and boy, were there a lot of thoughts blocked off, but he didn't need to wrestle for any of that information. Not yet, nor did he really want to try with Albus only a handful of meters away. Instead, he focused on the memory of the shop that was presented before him, a good lot of rather excellent inventions plastered upon the shelves. They sounded exceedingly fascinating and without a doubt useful, the shield cloaks, portable swamps and some intriguing little thing called 'Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder'. The products all sounded delightful. And then, there in the memory were the twins, obviously just out of Hogwarts, running the place.

Shaking his head and breaking eye contact with Harry, Gellert smiled. Oh yes, he could without a doubt back the two up now.

"Gentlemen," Harry mused, addressing the two twins who'd stood up and appeared to have been trying to decipher their silent conversation, "both my friend Gellert and I, along with Tom but he's not really pulling his weight at the moment, have a goal. We are going to find and raise Atlantis. But to do that, we must first find and raise some funds. I have a plan, and I had heard a rumor you plan on starting your own business. I'll give you the money you need to start out, and I get a share of the profits. Deal?"

The two ginger haired boys blinked before looking to one another. If they weren't third years, 

Gellert would have sworn they'd been using Legilimency. But, it was probably just that thing twins could do between one another.

"We'll have to hamper out the fine details later-"

"-but it's without a doubt a deal!"

Harry shook both of their hands before turning back to her breakfast as the two red-headed menaces took off down the great hall, whispering plans between one another.

"Atlantis?"

Looking up from the sausage's he was currently slicing in half, Gellert smiled at Hermione's obvious confusion, her brows furrowed as she collected all the information she currently had on the word. Harry, who'd finished eating and was currently working away at the handle of her broom, nodded slightly, tongue sticking out from her mouth as she focused.

"Yep. Do some research and then ask us about it.”

"And why do you have a broom! It clearly stated on the letter that first years are not allowed to bring a broom to Hogwarts!"

Harry snorted, not lifting her eyes up from the wood as Hermione threatened to go to the nearest teacher and inform them of Harry's rule breaking attitude. Rolling his eyes because even for as smart as she was, the girl was so obviously a teacher's pet, Gellert placed a hand upon her shoulder and forced the girl back down onto the bench they were currently sharing.

"The letter only spoke about not bringing a broom, not that she couldn't make her own. Ask any of the Slytherin girls, I'm sure they'd be happy to complain about the fact Harry had been working on this since five o'clock this morning."

And then, happily redirected, the girl began pepping Harry with questions not only on the idea of the broom, but how she knew what to do. Harry, still quite focused, just grunted and pushed her plans forwards towards the girl, who began to devour all the information upon their pages. And Gellert found himself comforted.

Because before, where he might have worried that sitting through another seven years of schooling could be quite boring, he was fantastically wrong.

>linebreak<

They honestly seemed to love stirring the pot.

Tom Marvolo Riddle could only watch from the Slytherin table as both Potter and Grindelwald made a big show of sitting with the same bushy-haired mud-blood that they had sat with on the train. He could almost see the older Slytherins having heart-attacks, but not daring to go over and confront the two. In fact, he had to give the Weasley pains credit; they'd even dared to joke about the blond's name.

And he watched as another red-head, no doubt the younger brother, came over and began ripping into Potter for even daring to sit at their table. And to think, in another life, they'd been best friends! The only thing that could possibly make this more pleasant a sight was if there was a flash of pain across his nemesis' face. Alas, it was not to be. Then, the boy started going on about how she was not supposed to be allowed a broom in school, being a first year.

So with a sigh, Tom got up and began making his way over. If there was one thing he'd learnt from his early years, it was how to throw someone off balance. And that was just what he planned to do. He'd get under Potter's guard, and just when she'd think him safe, just when she'd think him tamed, then he'd strike. And strike hard. But for now, that meant bailing the brat out.

"Is there a problem here?"

Weasley's head snapped up, blue eyes glaring at his Slytherin tie before finally looking him in the eye.

"Yeah there is. Your snaky friend there is breaking the rules."

"I believe the rules say that she is unable to bring her own broom, not build her own."

And oh, didn't Weasley's face look a sight. In fact, both Grindelwald and Potter were staring at him. They didn't think just because he was sat across the hall that he wasn't keeping tabs on them? He'd read the blond's lips, throwing pretty much the same words out himself. But of course he had more impact; he was after all, the better public speaker when he put his mind to it.

"She can't build a broomstick!"

"Erm, yeah," Grindelwald mused, a smug little smirk upon his face, "she can. And she will."

And with that the blond stood, coming to stand beside Tom as Potter got to her feet to join them.

"Potions first, right?"

Even though it'd been seven years, he still knew these halls like the back of his hand. It was only the people that were different, the occasional new portrait. Other than that, it was as if he'd never left. Hell, he was still under Dumbledore's watchful eye, as always, so even that hadn't changed.

In fact, he'd probably have to be even more careful, because his counter-part had not only wrecked any innocence he could have shown with his name, but he was also still running loose.

In the very halls of Hogwarts, at the moment. Oh, defense was going to be fun.

If it weren't for the fact he knew Potter was a Parselmouth, he might have even tried getting into contact with his other self.

But for now, he'd focus his efforts on something a bit more productive. For example, that precious red stone hidden just off the third floor. With any luck, he'd be able to work around Potter and Grindelwald and get the stone for himself now that he knew the trick. It'd only be a matter of time before he could give the brat the slip, and then, the stone would be his. Immortality once more, only this time, the brat wouldn't be able to find his Horcruxes. Because there wouldn't be any to find.

A small smirk curved at his lips, before it was quickly wiped off when Grindelwald went to take a seat beside Potter in their potions class. The chances of him working with any of the children that surrounded him were about as high as a muggle's chance of living in his perfect world.

As the blond fool got quickly distracted by the bushy haired nuisance, Tom easily slipped into the seat beside Potter, who looked ten percent surprised, and ninety percent amused. He ignored her irritating facial expression, instead relishing the one Grindelwald pulled when he realized his favored seat was already occupied.

So instead, he dropped onto the table beside Potter, and no one else dared to even think about approaching the boy. Not even the mud-blood, though that may be because she was attempting to talk to another Gryffindor girl. It wasn't until the side-door to the potions chamber opened that Tom remembered just who the current Potions Master of Hogwarts was.

Oh yes, this would, without a doubt, be fun.

He couldn't decide between terror, annoyance or exhilaration. He let his eyes scan over the crowd of first year students, taking specific note of the main three.

Completely at ease within his seat and ignoring the red-head Weasley who was all but hyperventilating at being sat next to him, Grindelwald's namesake grinned back at him and wiggled his eyebrows. He made a mental note to give the brat a detention at the first opportunity. Hell, the only reason the ginger head of hair was sat next to the child was probably because he had been the last to arrive. Grindelwald was certainly not popular with the other children.

Almost shuddering at the idea of addressing the boy by that name, Severus Snape turned his attention to the rest of the class, silently promising to refer to the boy as Gellert in the safety of his mind. After all, he had two others that he must pay attention to over all the other insignificant children; now, even his godson paled in comparison.

Sat side by side and showing little more than a tolerance for the other, Harriet Potter and Tom Riddle stared back at him with disturbingly blank faces. That was already a point towards the young boy. While his lack of visual cues others may find disturbing, the boy had yet to even looking at both himself and Potter with a hint of malice. If this truly was the Dark Lord reborn, he'd have attacked Potter the second he'd gotten a wand. As far as Severus knew, the boy had only looked at her the wrong way when they'd disagreed on something, or when the girl was being her annoying self. No different than her father. Worries put somewhat to rest, Severus turned his attention back to the lesson of the day.

It couldn't be any worse than the Weasley twins' first day.

>linebreak<

Albus Dumbledore had been sat within his office, still dealing with the back-lash of Gellert's admittance into Hogwarts. The little instrument that told him if Harriet were to ever be placed in mortal peril began whizzing not a second before the one that let him know students were in danger began bouncing around. And then, there was a muffled explosion, which could have come from nowhere other than the dungeons.

He'd had Fawkes flare him down to the level before he'd even fully stood up, wand out of his sleeve and pointing in the direction of the door. Smoke was billowing out through the open doorway, clouding around before slowly whisking away down the corridor. Albus took a quick step inside, waving the death-stick around and clearing the fumes that were currently impairing his vision. He was fully expecting to see a scattering of dead bodies, perhaps his Potion's master strung up and quartered alongside the-girl-who-lived.

What he wasn't expecting to see was four shield charms thrown up.

Severus was stood at the front of the class, with a collection of Slytherin and Gryffindor students cowering behind him with bright, wide eyes taking in the carnage. An entire wall was missing from one side of the potion's lab, moving into one of the unused classrooms that was now half covered with scorch marks. He could just make out another shield charm in that direction, and it took him a moment to realize it was the unfortunately named Grindelwald boy, who had a good collection of students behind him they'd been blasted back by the explosion, and from the look of the shield, it'd only just held. The question of how he knew the shield charm was there, but Albus was too focused on finding the other two students of note.

Curled up on the other side of the potion's class-room with the rest of the student body well within their shield, Tom Riddle and Harriet Potter were sat, staring at one another as if to question why they'd put a shield up in the first place. The two over-lapping shield charms were much stronger than the one the Grindelwald boy had thrown up, and the two seemed surprised about it in fact.

"What happened here?" Albus finally murmured, looking back and forth between the students and Severus, hoping for some answers.

But before his potion's master could even open his mouth, Grindelwald had plucked up the soot covered red-head beside him -no doubt a Weasley- and presented him as one would a rare and exotic species for dissection.

"Mr Weasley didn't heed my warning that if he were to place the horned slugs in at that point in time the potion would explode. And I warned him multiple times," the blond sneered at the end of his sentence, depositing the boy like an offering before a god, literally wiping his hands clean of the situation before making his way back over to the collection of students that'd been saved by his shield charm.

Albus watched him go, unable to do anything other than compare him to the teenaged blonde he'd met almost a century ago.

"Class dismissed."

>linebreak<

They had a free-period next, which saw both Harry and Gellert make their way to the library. As she was walking along beside him, Harry was twisting away at a set of twigs, twining them together and their obvious destination was to be the end of her Thestfall broomstick. Gellert himself had pulled out the thick back book that Harry had found, flicking back to the page he'd previously left off at as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Am I to assume you have all of your own research somewhere other than your head?"  
Harry didn't look up from the broom end she was working on, instead just fishing through one of her pockets and pulling out two small books. They were both leather bound, one brown and one black cover wise. Gellert inspected them for a moment before tapping both with his wand, watching as they expanded into two foot high tomes.

The black one, he was delighted to find out, was full of all sorts of black-mail on other people. Though not in Harry's writing.

"Snuck into one of the Black's houses over summer and met Cassiopeia Black. She's my great-aunt, and with a little display of advanced magic she was more than happy to hand over a copy of her little black book."

Oh, now this was without a doubt good news. Which meant the brown one was full of knowledge on Atlantis, which the girl must have spent what remained of summer writing up. Interesting, she'd obviously not been playing around with her past lives then.

"We also need to get into the Gryffindor common rooms, ; I have a rat to collect."

Gellert paused, head peeking up from the thick black book to look across at the raven haired girl. One hand resting beneath her jaw, Harry had her head propped up by the limb, the other sprawled across the table and lazily flicking through the book in front of her. Had he not known any better, he would have said she was far too confident for a little first-year.

"Are you going for stealth, or for speed?" Because he could quite easily track down the relevant portrait – ha, Harry probably already knew which one it was – and blast it out the way. But, that would also draw attention. Far too much attention that they certainly didn't want, in any shape or form. Yet.

"Stealth. I'm thinking the first Quidditch match; all the Gryffindors go, we could sneak in then." Teasing her bottom lip between her fore-finger and thumb, Harry let out a low sigh, taking her glasses off in order to rub at her eyes, as if she were tired. Then again, if he'd lived numerous lives and failed his task in each one so far, he guessed he'd be a tad upset and dishearten too.

"Was the explosion in potions really necessary?"

He cackled, unable to help it. An explosion in the potion's lab, and he was able to valiantly save a good portion of his fellow class-mates? It may put him across as a prodigy, but it also put him across as a caring prodigy. It was the perfect way to win brownie points with Albus. And he told Harry as much, watching as her face lit up, slowly but surely.

"I suppose it is," she finally murmured before turning back to the book that currently had her attention, absent-mindedly scribbling something into the big black book of black-mail.  
This year was certainly off to an interesting start, at least.

"I can feel it!"

It was quite certainly the first outburst that Severus Snape had made in a long time. Ever since the potions class that very morning, in which the blond menace had blasted his way through solid stone, he'd been feeling odd. It'd taken him a few minutes at dinner to realize he felt like he was being watched.

And when he'd sought out the troublesome trio, he'd only found two; Potter and Riddle, sat side by side and talking in low key whispers. Not plotting, just sharing information, that much he'd been able to gather.

What he noticed most however, was that there was no Grindelwald boy around. Gellert Grindelwald had escaped his notice.

"Don't be stupid Severus, for all his name is worth, the boy is wonderful." Professor McGonagall was quite obviously biased; the boy was a transfiguration genius, according to her. As were his two bratty cohorts. Hell, she even proclaimed the boy had gone around helping the other students. The one's that'd allowed him anywhere near them, that was.

"I don't trust him," Severus whispered harshly beneath his breath, "the brat is- he's right there!" A quick shot of a stunner spell launched from the potion master's wand, zipping into the rafters usually hidden by the enchanted sky.

Yet, it produced no result, other than stares from the student body, and a lecture from the female Animagus.

And hung upside down right above the two, feet firmly planted against the ceiling, Gellert pushed down the urge to cackle again.


	7. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Defense.

Dear Father,

As you have probably already heard, there is a boy that has joined Hogwarts, that was sorted into Slytherin. His name is Gellert Grindelwald, and I'm terrified to admit I made a grievous error of judgement. I found Harriet Potter on the train, and while introducing myself, I may have gone about it in very much the wrong way. I insulted the company she was with, two boys that were sat in the same compartment. One of them almost started a duel with my right there, and would have had Potter not held him to wand point. It was only during the sorting that it was revealed one of the boys I insulted had the name Grindelwald. And he wasn't even the one to turn on me.

Father, please, I'm scared. I need whatever information you can get on him, and Potter's other friend. I think he's called Tom Riddle.

Your loving son,  
Draco Malfoy

Lucius Malfoy stared down at the letter from his only son, terror written upon his face. Thank god Narcissa was otherwise preoccupied in France for the moment. She would have, without a doubt, demanded an explanation. However, it was not the name Grindelwald that had made his blood run cold. Instead, it'd turned to ice when it'd fallen upon the final name mentioned. The other friend of Harriet Potter. He didn't want to believe it. But that name, he certainly knew it from somewhere.

Turning to look at the portrait of his father upon the wall, Lucius' thoughts ran to the innocent little black book he'd been entrusted with. Or rather, the initials on the back of said book. His father, Abraxas Malfoy, had been one of the very first Death-Eaters. Surely he'd know something.

"Father, do you perhaps know the name Riddle?"

And there it was, the same terror he'd without a doubt just worn himself, but spread across painted oils. His father's face was twisted with horror; he certainly knew the name Riddle.

"Why?"

"Draco has insulted two boys, one sharing the unfortunate name of Grindelwald and the other is apparently called Tom Riddle."

"Salazar," Abraxas whispered before he disappeared from his frame. Lucius didn't see him for the rest of the day.

>linebreak<

"You have to teach me that."

Pausing and looking down from where he was crouched upon the deserted common room ceiling, Gellert Grindelwald offered Harry Potter, his partner in crime, a sharp smile and as he wiggled his fingers before his face.

"Magic," he murmured with a grin, still hanging upside down on the roof. This was what had made him so dangerous, this was what had won him the elder wand before. Because he didn't just use magic for offense and Defense, for everyday usage. He expanded upon the charms he knew, adjusting them and thinking just how useful something could truly be. Like right now, a simple sticking charm. Adjust it slightly to be turned on and off at will, and he was able to ignore gravity completely, walking up walls and across ceiling.

Few people had gotten the jump on him in the early days, because during school he'd taken to sleeping in the most obscure places. Be that actually in his bed, or attached to the back of the door, ready to attack whomever intruded his personal sleeping quarters. This was one of the very skills he'd used during his heist of the death-stick.

The poor wand-maker had no idea that he'd been there; what kind of wizard came in through the third floor window, after all? Well, the answer to that would be an eternally sneaky one. Too many wizards relied solely upon their wands nowadays. Where as he knew better. He'd studied different cultures; long before the wand came into being, magic was channelled through the body. Most noticeably, eastern martial arts were centered around helping to improve and maintain the magical core. So Gellert had learnt, he'd studied and kept a healthy mind and body. And his magic had always come easier as a result. So he had the advantage. He'd take what he could get.

And if it were not there to take, he'd invent it.

His ice blue eyes turned to look at Harry, narrowing slightly as he considered the girl. "And what do I get in return?"

The raven haired girl smirked back, holding up her now completely carved broomstick and wiggling it about in-front of his eyes.

"Nah, not interested." He was, and she knew it, but not enough to give up such a major advantage.

Scoffing, Harry carefully placed her Thestfall on the nearby table before scampering up to her dormitory. Seating himself on the ceiling and ignoring the blood that was rushing to his head, Gellert took a good look around the common room. It was dark, even the skylights for the lake above didn't help that. Especially seeing as it was five in the morning right now. The baby Dark-Lord should be along shortly, and then they were going up to monopolize an unused classroom. It'd become their base of operations, and they'd be warding it shortly.

Apparently, Harry had already asked Albus for a place where they could work, and upon finding out they were searching for Atlantis, and not plotting to take over the world, he'd happily agreed. Though he'd probably be coming down to check on them. As it stood in school terms, they were an exclusive club and as such, had a right to protect themselves from people who were not welcome. The head-master would probably be expecting a jinxed doorhandles or something. He would, without a doubt, not be expecting all the wards that the three of them were going to throw up.

After five minutes, Gellert was almost hesitant to wait any longer; had she just walked off? But no, Harry had reappeared at the stairs, bounding into the common-room with a green book tucked into her side. She flicked it open, pages flying about before she finally stopped at one.

"I've got a large scale shield charm; it can cover an entire town and other spells I made to try and combat the volcano. That a good enough trade for your ninja like abilities?" Folding her arms across her chest and offering up an smug little smirk, the thin green note-book sat in one hand. There would only be about fifty spells in it at best, but if the girl had invented them over time, then there was no other method of getting a hold of them unless he tried tearing into her mind. And he already knew that was well fortified. A strength for a strength.

Dropping to the ground and sticking his hand out to shake on the deal, Gellert smiled.  
"Deal."

>linebreak<

Riddle finally emerged from the dorm at half five, nose buried deep in a book of questionable material. He'd have to nab it a bit later; he'd quickly come to the realization that Hogwarts was lacking so many books that it was depressing. It was all focused on light magic, on the stuff that was pure and righteous. He couldn't even find a book relating to elemental manipulation, never mind one that actually instructed on the magic. He shouldn't have been surprised really, he knew fully well that Drumstrang had been a lot more carefree in regards to the books house within their library, and that he really shouldn't have expected some good reading here. Especially with Albus in charge. However, he'd still hoped, and now that hope was crushed underfoot.

So instead, he'd probably be spending the time learning Harry's set of spells, teach the girl what he himself knew about the magical core along with the spells he used. And then, once all that was done, he'd probably snatch up a copy of Harry's broom and become a beta on the Quidditch team or something. Nothing like knocking a few snot-nosed brats from their brooms. Oh, and he'd start creating a few more spells of his own too. But that was an obvious option.

Harry had led them down the corridor's of the dungeon, pushing open one of the thick wooden doors and she watched as Riddle's brows shot up, eyes finally looking up from the book and right at Harry in amused surprise.

"You do realize that this has-"

"An entrance to the chamber? Yes, I do," pushing desks out of her way and transfiguring a sheet of paper into a wall sized world map, Harry finally paused in the center of the room.

It took Gellert a few seconds before he realized just what chamber the two were referring to. Salazar's fabled chamber of secrets, without a doubt. Oh, how he wished he too could speak to snakes, there had to be some books that the old dark wizard left behind hidden somewhere in there. Surprisingly enough, Harry held out two woven leather bracelets, the shirt sleeve trailing up her arm as she did so to present a matching one wrapped around her own wrist.

"I'll be coding the bracelets into the wards, so only we can look at the research. If anyone stumbles in, the wards will just drop them off elsewhere. However, if someone wants out research," Harry tented her fingers once the two of them had accepted the bracelets, Riddle of course, did so with a sneer.

"Well, you two can go to town on what happens once they're inside the room. Just make sure they're left alive to be interrogated on why they want our research." And with that, the raven haired girl made her way over to the map, tracing and outlining specific places with her wand, leaving behind a bright glow instead of the ink someone normal would have used.

"These are the possible locations I've narrowed it down to; we'll start searching for them soon enough. For now, we need information. And lot's of it."

>linebreak<

He'd spent most of the sorting ceremony in some twisted form of unconsciousness. Quirrell having paid more than enough attention for the both of them when a 'Gellert Grindelwald' had been announced. That was good, because a boy with such a suspicious name like that meant more attention on the boy, on the obvious threat, and less on him. He was mildly surprised when he heard Harriet Potter get sorted into Slytherin. Quirrell got a good look at the vicious scar that'd been left upon her forehead, the distinct lightning bolt shape. Then, he'd settled in to return back into unconsciousness, to go back to persevering his strength.

Then he'd heard it, a name that hadn't been used in forty years. One Tom Riddle.

He'd all but snatched Quirrell's eyesight from him, looking for the child that'd dared to turn up at Hogwarts whilst under that name. And if he had a mouth, it'd have run dry at that point. The boy was him, there was no other way to describe him. A little healthier looking, and certainly much less affected than what he had been at eleven years old, but there was no doubt about it.

Another Tom Riddle was sat upon the seat before him; it was watching his own sorting from a different perspective. The same amount of time between Hat and Slytherin, the same odd silence from the class-mates. But what was different this time was that the boy, this Tom Riddle, already knew someone. He seated himself next to Harriet Potter without any care what so ever, face unreadable as the Potter girl jabbed him in the ribs and welcomed him home. With an extra empathizes upon the 'home'.

So it was now, as he waited for Quirrell's first Defense class with the Slytherins he remained and thought. It was too strange to be a coincidence. There was just no way that a boy shows up with his name, the same time another one with another Dark Lord name, in the same year as Harriet Potter herself? There was more going on here than he'd previously believed. Was it all an elaborate trap to get him to reveal himself? But then why Grindelwald? He would be unnecessary, unless that was to throw him off? A smoke-screen?

No, it didn't make sense. He needed more information, more time to observe the three and see just where it was all leading to.

Decision made, Voldemort retreated to the back of Quirrell's mind, lurking in the back of the man's head.

He'd get his answers in due time.

>linebreak<

As the weeks pressed on, everything went well. There was small changes, simple changes from the common background that she saw every rebirth, and Harriet Potter had learnt to pay attention to them. For example, when Malfoy had been about to make his power-play during their flying lessons, it'd only taken one stern look for him to drop Neville's remembrall. The three of them were still sitting pretty at the top of the class, much to Hermione's annoyance. The bushy haired girl kept getting more and more annoyed, and had almost stopped talking to them. 

Harry understood, she really did. It had to be hard on the girl to have no friends in her own house, and the fact she'd reached out for others, especially Slytherins, would result in ridiculing from the rest of the Gryffindors. So she'd stopped trying to talk to them, stopped sitting next to them and was all but attempting to cut them from her life.

But Harry knew she'd come around. She always did, in every single rebirth, seven of which she'd spent in Slytherin. Every time she tried the damn hat on it'd just laugh at her for a bit, sorting through all her thoughts before usually implying that she was stupid to have fought the black head-gear the first time around. Although, they were making significant progress now on the whole information gathering front. She may have hated Tom with every fibre in her body once upon a time, the sensation had dulled throughout the years. Now, she felt nothing more than slight contempt for the boy himself, and as for the dark parasite, well, that summed it up rather well actually. He was just a bug in her desperate attempts to save the people. And so, while she may not be Tom's best friend, she could not fault his researching skills.  
Not even Hermione was that good.

Which brought them, quite neatly, to Halloween. It was only an hour to go before the feast would begin, and Harry currently found herself stood within the middle of the Slytherin common-room, balanced awkwardly upon one leg with the other curled up in front of her. The green and silver tie that'd spent the whole day resting around her neck was now instead threaded through her hair, not only keeping the black locks up and off her sweaty face, but the material also covered both her eyes.

Unable to see anything but the house colors, Harry missed the amused smile that was currently resting upon Gellert's face as he watched her. In retrospect, asking the blond for some tips on magic might have been a bit of a bad idea if this was how he went about doing things, but then again, it was interesting. And something she'd never learnt before. Hell, when she'd picked him for this life-time, she hadn't expected Death to present her with such light-hearted male. To be honest, she'd been fully expecting another Tom. How wrong she'd been. Pleasantly wrong.

"Right, any idea where I am at the moment?"

Harry pushed her thoughts away, desperately trying to focus. This was the first time since she'd seen Gellert sneaking about on the ceiling that he'd actually taken the time to start training her. Though she was certainly a better fighter, along with having a bigger spell repertoire, Gellert had some very specific skill sets that certainly made it hard to beat him in combat. Whereas Tom would just stand and fire spells, only moving if an AK was shot at him, Gellert was like a gale force hurricane. He'd duck, he'd weave, he was almost impossible to hit. She'd realized this when the three of them had gone up to the Room of Requirement after a fight over who should really be in charge of their group. She was still in charge, but it'd been close. She'd had no idea of Gellert's fighting style, unlike her in-depth notes on Tom's.

Every her fellow Parselmouth had been begrudgingly impressed.

"Are you paying attention at all Harry?”

"Of course I am," Harry snapped, pointing in the general direction that she heard Gellert's voice coming from. The blond laughed from her opposite side and the girl sighed, because quite obviously he'd thrown his voice to the other side of the room with a charm. She'd been nowhere near with her guess.

"Now, instead of just relying on your ears, focus on your magic. It's sitting in your core right now, somewhere behind your solar plexus. I want you to get a feel for it, and then try pulling it out. The more you try pushing it out, the more obvious threats to your person will be.”

"That's how you always know when someone's behind you!”

It was true, no one had been able to sneak up on the blond so far, it was as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Privately, she'd secretly thought that maybe both his eyes were charmed like Moody's false one. She was kind of relived to find that wasn't the case. Not even the Weasley twins had been able to get the drop on him; Gellert had avoided every tampered potion, drink and cake they'd put in front of him with practiced ease. The first time he'd caught them, both Fred and George had obviously been scared beyond their wits. However, Gellert had just laughed, exclaiming that it'd make them sneakier if they kept trying. Harry wasn't too sure she wanted sneakier Weasleys.

A quick jab to her side and Harry toppled forwards, midsection slamming into the couch back and she groaned.

"Pay attention and stop day-dreaming. No wonder you struggled so much with meditation to begin with.”

She aimed her best jab in what she assumed to be his retreating direction, but an indignant squawk let her know she'd caught a Parkinson instead. Luckily enough, the pug-faced girl had a very healthy fear of Gellert -along with what she suspected, a crush on him- and didn't say anything. But only because Gellert himself was so close by. Shaking her head free of the thoughts, Harry scrunched her eyes up, trying to focus upon the so called 'core' that she was suppose to be housing. True, she always knew that she could pull on it when she was using her wand, but it was as if her wand was the connection. Without it, it was like trying to trap water in her hands. No, not even that, because she hadn't even been able to dip her hands in yet, she couldn't even get a hand on it. It was more like air. She wasn't even sure it was there to begin with.

Suddenly, there was a hand pressed against the small of her back and she felt warm, intruding magic jolting at her.

"Maybe this'll help," Gellert murmured, and the energy suddenly struck at a ball wound tightly up inside her.

"There it is!”

Even though they spent an hour at it, Harry still got no closer to tapping at the power inside her. She knew it was certainly there now, but accessing it was a completely different concept.

So, she re-adjusted her tie and joined the blond for the Halloween Feast. It was strange, always strange, whenever she found herself walking to the Great Hall from the dungeons. No matter what, she was still unable to shake the idea of Gryffindor tower, of Ron and Hermione's company. Instead, she was walking beside a mass manic that'd caused hysterical panic fifty years ago. And honestly, the company was quite good. Gellert was brilliant, had an excellent sense of humor; it really wasn't clicking inside her head. Why was he a Dark Lord? He seemed too nice, and it couldn't possibly be an act. She'd not seen him slip once, and she was more than paranoid enough to catch it after a month. But then again, his words from before floated around in her mind, about his very twisted moral compass. He may be absolutely lovely, but he was without a doubt vicious if pushed.

She could only hope that no one did.

>linebreak<

The two of them took a seat within the middle of the Slytherin table, Gellert instantly turning to Blaise Zabini and striking up a conversation on something related to the boy's homeland of Italy. Harry wasn't too sure just what they were talking about, but instead she turned her attention back to the hall of children around her, taking in all the people she'd once known.

Neville was sat beside Ron, engaged in a hesitant conversation with the red-head who seemed happy enough to talk to him. Oliver Wood was drilling the two Weasley twins, along with a scrawny second year that'd been picked out as seeker this year. Harry frowned slightly, already knowing that she'd be missing the rush Quidditch provided. Then again, she could always play a friendly match with Gellert. Or, if the blond didn't play, then maybe she'd even approach Draco. A bit of goading and the boy would leap at the chance. It wasn't until her eyes failed to land upon Professor Quirrell's form that Harry realized something was very wrong. She'd already known that it was Troll Halloween -who could forget that?- but what was perhaps more important, was that Tom was missing.

Her eyes swept up and down the Slytherin table, and then in a moment of desperation, she took a quick glance of the other tables too, once again failing to spot the dark hair of pristinely styled hair and bored face that came with it.

"Gellert, where's Tom?" She hissed beneath her breath, watching as the blond snapped to attention beside her. True she knew not to trust Tom with the life of a spider, never mind anything bigger than that. But he was absent on the night there'd be an excellent distraction, one that'd cause mass panic amongst the students and staff. One that'd give him a clear shot at-

"The stone!" Leaping to her feet, Harry snatched up Gellert with one arm and the other reaching for the wand tucked neatly into her sleeve.

"Stone?" Gellert repeated beside her, already jogging to keep up as the two of them began to tear their way through the crowds around them.

"The Philosopher's Stone. It's in the castle and Tom's going after it. We've got to stop him. And to think, I was actually starting to believe he'd changed a bit." Nails biting into the tender flesh of her right palm as she clenched the wand in her hand, Harry broke out of the great hall, just in time to see Professor Quirrell come running from the opposite direction.

"Third floor, we have to go now," Harry grumbled, finally letting go of Gellert's wrist and not paying the least bit attention to the way he was currently rubbing against his pained skin. Instead, she took off, ducking into a doorway when a ghost came by.

"This'd be so much easier if I had my invisibility cloak right now."

>linebreak<

Hermione Jean Granger was currently crying. She was curled up on top of the cold toilet seat, pawing weakly at her burning red eyes as more and more tears came trickling out. Ron Weasley's hateful words came swirling into her mind once again, refusing to leave and ruining every thought she touched on. She didn't have any friends. Not in Gryffindor, all they did was tease her.

And the Slytherins, Harry and her two friends, maybe they had only taken pity on her, like Weasley said. Why would those three, the top of the class and the best at everything, want to be friends with a bookish nerd like her? She wasn't cool like them, or as naturally brilliant. She'd never seen one of them open their class-books, instead instantly getting everything right. As if it were a gift to them. She worked hard to get all her knowledge, and she still wasn't as good as them. They didn't need her, did they? No one really liked her at all.

It was five more minutes before the smell hit her. It was rotten, the kind that made her insides twist up and her previous meal demand to be brought back up so it could flee the sensation. Instead, she forced it down, focusing upon the awful smell. She'd never smelt anything like it; it burned her nostrils, a sharp scent that almost threw her to her knees. Pushing open the painted, wooden door to the lavatory, Hermione peeked out from around the side of the door, red rimmed brown eyes seeking out the source. And she froze at the sight before her.

It was twelve feet of rotten looking grey flesh, hefting an club that was easily bigger than her. A leathery hide was pulled across its chest in a half open waist-coat, pants just as poorly stitched. Its eyes were hazy, unfocused and as small as its ears were big. Even with this brief look, Hermione could identify it as a mountain troll, torn right from the pages of one of the books that she'd finished as extra reading she'd assigned herself. Its Ministry Classification of Magical Creatures came in at a quadruple X, making it dangerous and most certainly requiring a specific set of knowledge for a witch or wizard to take down. Something she certainly didn't have. Even as she screamed, Hermione's brain was whirling, fully aware a creature such as this should not have been able to make it into Hogwarts, 'Hogwarts a History' said so.

Unfortunately, at the sound of her high pitched screech of terror, the troll's eyes became focused, locked on her form and it hefted the large club in its hands. The swing that came next sent all of the toilet stands crashing to the floor, and would have seen Hermione within the rubble had she not scampered, teary eyed, to take cover beneath the nearby sinks.

Regrettably, the troll did not seem to like the idea of loosing its prey, and was competent enough to understand that the fluffy hair had moved beneath the oddly shaped white stones protruding from the wall. As the beast lifted its club up again, Hermione's brown eyes flew to the only exit, a door blocked by the creature. She had no chance of making it out of there before the beast caught her.

"Move!"

A form barreled into her from the side and Hermione gasped, thrown to the floor as the troll took out half of the sinks she'd been sheltered beneath. Eyes snapping up to look at the form before her, all coherent thoughts but one spluttered and skidded to a stop. Staring down at her, a pair of hard grey eyes met her's, attached to a face with a mouth in a firm line. Tom Riddle, the impossibly hateful, impossibly beautiful boy stared down at her, half knelt, half crouched beside her.

"What could possibly have possessed you to be here?"

As Hermione opened her mouth to answer, the Slytherin seemed to take in her red rimmed eyes and scoffed, leaping up to his feet and turning to face the imminent danger before them.

"Don't bother answering. I suggest unless you have an unusual liking for blood, you look away."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but saw Tom raise his wand and her eyes shut instantly. She heard his voice, a melody compared to the whiny voices of every other child in their year, form the words of the cutting curse. She knew the spell herself, having already read the second year books, but it was not yet working for her. And not a second later, there was a tremendous howl from the troll, the floor shaking as the beast stumbled backwards.

Hermione's eyes flew open from where she was curled up between the wall and Tom's legs, staring at the beast that had dropped its club to the floor and was pressing both palms to its eyes, thick globs of blood rushing between its fingers. Calm as when he had learnt it that very morning, Tom repeated the levitation charm, the troll's club leaping into the air under his command. And it smashed against its owners skull, sending the troll to the floor, Tom slowly lowered his wand, and by extension, the club. As soon as the thick wood hit the floor the boy carefully approached the beast, wand still held before him, ready for the first sign of movement. 

However, there was none, even as he kicked at the troll's arm.

"Well, I believe it is safe to say the beast is out cold." He mused, seemingly unconcerned over the troll blood that was splattered across the floor. Instead, the tall Slytherin, perhaps the tallest boy in their year, turned to her and offered his free hand.

Shaking, Hermione placed her own fingers within his palm, allowing the dark haired boy to help her to her feet.

"I assume you have no wounds?"

Shaking her head, Hermione could only look from the troll body and back to the boy before her. The hateful boy who'd gone out of her way to save her. Before she could say anything though, the door burst open as the teachers approached.

There was a moment of silence as Professor McGonagall and her entourage took in the sight before them; the troll felled and a Slytherin helping a Gryffindor to her feet. Unsurprisingly, Professor Quirrell took one look at the troll before producing a faint whimper as he dropped onto a scattered toilet, clutching at his heart. Meanwhile, Snape had bent over the troll's face, inspecting it and the source of the blood while Hermione's Head of House stared at the two of the with fury in her eyes. In fact, her pursed lips were white with the pressure she was placing upon them and Hermione clutched harder at Tom's hand, not even realizing that she had yet to realize the appendage.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" McGonagall hissed, "You were lucky you weren't killed, why are you not in your dormitory?" It was the cold fury that Hermione hated, how the deputy head-mistress' eyes instantly flew to Tom's form as if he were the problem.

"Please Professor McGonagall, he came looking for me. I went looking for the troll because I-I thought I could handle it on my own. You know, because I've read about them."

Beside her, Tom tore his hand from her's, snorting as she did so.

"Regardless of Miss Granger's attempts to see you believe otherwise, that is not the truth. Miss Granger is being bullied by her own house mates, and she came here before the feast to seek some form of self comfort. I realized that she was missing during the feast and came to find her. I was able to subdue the troll by casting a cutting curse at its eyes, seeing as my magic would have little to no effect upon it's hide. Once its club was free, I knocked it out with a levitation charm."

Now all three teachers were staring at the dark-haired boy, along with Hermione herself. She tried to cover for him, because Tom had obviously believed he could take the troll. And he had, but he would still probably have gotten into trouble for it. She'd tried covering for him, and the boy had stepped forwards instead, calmly exclaiming what had happened and to her mortification, explained the situation with her house-mates. If McGonagall's lips had been pale before, they might as well have been white now. Professor Snape was looking at his student, torn somewhere between a sneer and some form of pride perhaps.

"Well then," Professor McGonagall finally stated after looking between the two of them, "I shall certainly be having words with my first-years. As for you Mr Riddle... Twenty five points to Slytherin, for such a courageous act, and another twenty five for your quick thinking in regards to the troll. Come along Miss Granger."

Hermione shakily made her way out from behind Tom's form, following after her Head of House. Just before she was about to turn the corner, she shot one last look at the boy, who stood with his hands in his pocket as he inspected the troll as if it were another chapter in a school book. It didn't matter that he was hateful, it didn't matter he didn't seem to have any big emotions. He'd saved her.

And just like that, Hermione Granger knew for certain she had gotten her first crush.

She followed meekly behind her transfigurations Professor, unable to lift her gaze from the floor. All she could remember was Tom telling her to look away as he aimed a violent curse at the beast's eyes. No wonder why, he'd probably blown them from the sockets, if it were to live, the troll would certainly be blind. But, she also knew that a troll hind was quite resistant to magic, nothing they'd learnt in first year, hell, nothing in the second year texts would have been able to get through it. So Tom had simply worked with what he knew and still taken the troll down. Hermione couldn't help but admire the boy, not only was he smart, but he could use it when he needed to as well. Her mind had been furiously blank, unable to do anything other than scream and cry. He was smart and beautiful. There was no way she was going to be able to push down this crush, and to be honest, she wasn't too sure she wanted to.

Hermione didn't even realize they were at the Gryffindor common-room till Professor McGonagall shuffled her inside, her narrow green eyes taking in the collection of students that silenced before her.

"I have never been more ashamed of my house before today," she began, looking over the students who turned to one another with confusion written over their faces. "Not only did your bullying drive a girl to cry, but by extension, you put her at risk by not taking care to inform a teacher she was missing whilst a mountain troll was on the loose within our school. If it were not for the brave actions of a Slytherin first year -that's right, a Slytherin- then she would quite possibly be dead. I am so furious with all of you in first year, and the rest of you for not noticing or taking action. I shall speak to you about a punishment at a later date. For now, I want you all to think on your actions and what could have come to pass otherwise."

Normally, Hermione would have been humiliated as her teacher admitted that she'd been off crying. But instead, she barely heard the words that were spoken. Instead, her mind was whizzing with fictional heroes from all the novels she'd read before.

And how none of them could compare to her real hero and his cold silver eyes.


End file.
